


Neverland

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 203,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: The Fakes hate Gemini. They’re a vicious, cut-throat crew who go against everything the FAHC stand for. But when a bigger, badder threat comes along, Michael and Ryan are forced to team up with Gavin - Gemini’s mastermind thief - to take down a common enemy.The two of them are determined not to get too close - but living together in a small safe house, it’s hard to hide all the ways that you’re broken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **c/w: Extensive and graphic explorations of childhood neglect, abuse (not sexual, not between people in a relationship), and characters working through various types of grief and trauma. Specific warnings at the start of relevant chapters; feel free to contact me on tumblr if you need any more details about something.**

**i. red**

_You always remember your first kill._

_Michael sure remembers his, in all its gory detail - the strangulation, that sharp, choking_ shock _of how little effort it actually takes to cut off someone’s air. To kill. From behind, with a wire cord, even a scrawny twelve year old could do it._  

 _He remembers the blood that ran down his knuckles, and how his jaw hurt, teeth bared like an animal, and above all how_ senseless _it felt, because he didn’t quite understand why they were doing this or all the complex business of the gangs in this city, but he’d been told to, he had to, so he killed._

_He remembers how he cried, after, watching her slide limply to the floor. It wasn’t the first body he’d seen but it was the first at his hands, and something about that was awful - unreal - and despite how numb he’d felt he couldn’t stop the tears. That was what made Pete step in, strong hands grabbing his arms hard enough to hurt - “Why’re you cryin’, boy? What’s there to cry about? You want to earn your place here, you get your fucking hands dirty like the rest of us. You don’t want to be weak, now, do you? ‘Cause you know what fucking happens to the weak around here, you know that-”_

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come,” Michael says.

 They’re parked across the road from the restaurant. It’s a damn bright day even with winter coming on, but the bustling _life_ on the streets around them feels a little too frantic, a little last-ditch-effort like everyone’s trying to get as much shit done as possible before the cold hits, and the dark, and they’ll bunker safely down in their warm homes to sleep the next few months away. Like animals, heading for safety, because the long nights are coming and Michael know what happens then. You don’t want to be caught out in it. 

For now though, the road swarms with expensive cars and beautiful people and glittering shop windows - a magpie’s nest of the city’s corrupt wealth.

Ryan, beside him, glowers out at it all like if he could summon a spontaneous thunderstorm he’d do it in a heartbeat. His mask is clutched tightly in his lap, his shoulders hunched and eyes red-rimmed. In his dark leather it looks like he’s headed to a funeral. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“You don’t look fine. Did you sleep at all last night?” 

It’s barely worth asking. Michael was in the bed with him, and saw how Ryan sat up all night, staring blankly into the dark, occasionally reaching up to finger the ring on a chain around his throat. Michael had pretended he was sleeping, too. He can tell when Ryan doesn’t want to talk about something. 

Now, he reaches out and takes Ryan’s hand, thumb rubbing gentle circles over his skin. Ryan doesn’t squeeze back, but he also doesn’t pull away. 

“Geoff wouldn’t have cared if you took today off,” Michael continues. “Considering-”

“Considering it’s been five years,” Ryan cuts in, voice tight, “I should be fucking over it.” 

“That’s not how it works,” Michael replies, a bit awkwardly, and looks down at their tangled hands when Ryan doesn’t reply. “Any of it.”

Ryan’s head thuds against the car window. He squeezes his eyes shut, falling back into a defensive silence, and Michael’s teeth worry at his lip. 

Three years now. Three anniversaries. Three times feeling far too helpless in the face of the other man’s buried pain, unsure what to say, or do, knowing no words can make things hurt less. 

It makes him feel fucking useless - but just being here helps, he thinks, because when he tries to sit back Ryan’s hand tightens around his. After a moment he takes a deep breath, and turns to Michael with a small smile. Michael stares back into the other man’s clear blue eyes, blown away as always by how steady and calm Ryan can be. Somehow it can always calm Michael, too - has since the first time he saw beneath the Vagabond’s mask - a moment of quiet in a world of too much red and black. It makes him think that things will be okay in the end. They always are, as year after year passes. They never forget - but it does get easier. 

“Besides,” Ryan says, “I couldn’t let you meet these assholes alone, could I?” 

Michael’s eyes roll nearly back into his head. 

“God,” he groans, “I fucking hate Gemini.”

He turns and looks at the restaurant again, scowling at the patrons he can see through the window, muttering and laughing and making all manner of deals. Murderers, thieves, liars, _all_ of them- 

But not like the Fake AH Crew are. Not like Geoff, who owns this city, who’s _different_ , who changed everything - but this is the edge of his territory, the fringe right up against Gemini’s side, and the lines aren’t as clear here. 

“Trust Alex Clayton to want to meet us somewhere so fucking pretentious,” he grumbles. “I bet the entrees cost over twenty dollars for, like, a single oyster. I bet this is the sort of place that sells _deconstructed_ dishes. I bet they charge you for fucking _water_.” 

Ryan chuckles, and Michael’s lips twitch, relieved. 

“I can’t fucking believe Geoff wants us to work with them!” he rants, and Ryan sighs. 

“He doesn’t _want_ to,” he mutters. “We don’t have much of a choice.” 

“There’s always a choice,” Michael snaps - he’s been annoyed about this since this morning, but he was trying to keep it tamped down, not wanting to make Ryan even moodier. Now it rises to the surface; a particular bitter, bubbling anger that he’s spent the last few years trying to wash away. “We’ve dealt with idiots trying their luck before. We own this damn city - we’ve kept it for years. But Gemini - Jesus, some of the shit they do over on the West coast-” 

“These new guys have a tank,” Ryan points out. “Whoever they are, they clearly have the resources to match ours. We barely got out alive last time. If Gemini can help us take them down-” 

“So what, we’re meant to go begging for their help?” Michael crosses his arms, fuming. “You know what these people do, Ryan - they’re not like us.” 

“We’re not begging,” Ryan says firmly. “Right now, they’ve got intel we don’t, and we have the territory and power to _use_ that. Working together is for both our gain. Besides,” he adds, darkly, “Gemini are gonna go hard on this. They don’t have much territory in AC - but if they take these guys down without us they’ll be the ones with the tank, and they might start pushing boundaries we don’t want them to push.” 

He has a point, Michael thinks grudgingly. Geoff isn’t stupid, and Michael’s known him long enough to trust him. But he doesn’t have to like it, and he glares at the restaurant a few minutes longer before finally sighing and undoing his seatbelt.

“Alright,” he grumbles, “Let’s get going.” 

Ryan grabs his hand as he reaches for the door handle. Michael looks over, and the sight of Ryan’s small smile makes him soften just a little.

“Hey - thanks,” Ryan says quietly. “For before. I know it’ll be fine - things are different, now.” 

“They are,” Michael agrees softly, and leans in to kiss him, a brief, quick brush of lips. It’s an oddly soft moment before he knows they’ll walk in and Ryan will become the Vagabond, Geoff’s fearless mercenary, and Michael will be Mogar, the firestarter, and they’ll be the face and voice of their crew - their _family_. It’s what has to happen, and Michael loves it most of the time - but he’s happy here, now, too, kissing the man he loves more than anyone else in the world. This city’s his home, the crew his family, the jobs and heists a crazy rush of adrenaline, not like before when he’d felt sick after everything he did. _Not like before_ \- just another reason to hate Gemini, he thinks, his mood souring the second he and Ryan break apart and he readies himself to go in. _They’re not like us. They work in the dark. And you told yourself you’d never go back to the shadows. Hell, you_ promised.

_Just our fucking luck we need their help._

 

* * *

 

Alex Clayton is already waiting at a shadowy table in the back corner when they arrive. Michael’s reaction as they get near is almost physical, a brimming disgust that bubbles up in his chest and his throat like it would spill out his eyes and ears if it could, anywhere, a heat pushing out from his very bones. 

Clayton is everything that disgusts him. He's leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out like an asshole, taking up as much space as he can - but he turns when they approach, and waves, and grins, and Michael _loathes_ him.

There are stories about Gemini. Less here, more on the other side of the country, where the bulk of their territory is. Stories about the Hart twins - beautiful, glamorous, deadly. Liesel with her crossbow who'll put a bolt through the heart of any man who crosses her; Janica who uses chemistry as a weapon, who builds bombs and mixes drugs, a devil in a white lab coat. Between them their kill count numbers in the thousands, and the city lives in terror of their ruthless gang. They believe in blood punishment for the slightest transgression - families and children put at stake if you fail to pay your debts. A dictatorship tightly controlled by two gorgeous, blonde grim reapers.  

When they started pushing for territory near AC, Geoff went hard against them. Still - Clayton, their man in the area, secured quite a few blocks on the East end of the city, across the Harbour where it's harder for Geoff to control. Since they moved in they've brought a darkness with them, and the spats at the edge of their territories have been getting worse and worse lately. The mere sight of him just makes Michael think of the toothless meth addicts that roam across Geoff's borders, of the crime scene photos they've seen in stolen police reports. Fathers shot dead on their front doorsteps, bodies dissolved in tanks of acid, too many 'disappearances' to count. It's all there in Clayton's cold, pale eyes and calloused hands - killer's hands - slender fingers that fit neatly around a handgun. Not like Ryan, Ryan who's killed just as many but who Michael sees the gentleness in. Ryan with his blue eyes.

"There you are! I was starting to think you might not show up," Clayton calls out, cheerily. Michael's blood boils. "Here, sit down - I ordered already, I hope that's alright. Didn't want to waste any time." 

"Bit fucking presumptuous of you," Michael can't help snapping, as he marches over and kicks out the chair opposite him. A figure beside Clayton jumps at the sudden movement, and Michael nearly leaps out of his own skin. Holy fucking shit - he hadn’t realised anyone else was here. 

But no - Gavin Free's sitting next to Clayton, and in the shadowy corner with his dark shirt, Michael nearly hadn't noticed him. But there he is, like a phantom, blending in amongst the rather gloomy mood lighting and the black wall behind him. Then again, that's his schtick, isn't it? Easy to be a thief if you're good at being invisible. 

"Jesus, Free. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack," he spits. 

He doesn't expect an answer, and he doesn't get one, even as he sits down and stares at his own reflection in the dark lenses of Gavin's sunglasses. Just a stony silence - just like last time. 

See, here's the thing. They run into Gemini a hell of a lot, given that they're the other main crew in the area. It's not always bad - not always territory disputes or street fights or interrupting each other’s weapons deals. There's been the odd occasion that they approached one another, white flags raised, to ask permission to heist in one another's territory, or exchange intel on the police, or occasionally do their own trades and deals. 

Gavin Free's usually the one behind the heists. He's made quite a damn name for himself since he popped up a year ago, the mastermind behind Gemini’s heists. If you can name it, he can steal it. Michael's been privy to a few of his plans - when Gemini needed to pass through their territory to get to the military base, Geoff demanded they get a cut and that he got to approve the plan first, and another time when Gemini needed the airport in his territory, he gave the go-ahead. The people they were hitting were mutual enemies. 

Still. Every single fucking time they've met, Gavin's been silent as a damn ghost. Like legit, their only proper interaction involved Michael asking how he was doing and getting a grunt in return. A fucking grunt - not enough effort to form a single syllable, like, say, _'Okay,_ ' or _'Good,_ ' or _'Fine._ ' Or, now would this be so fucking hard, _'Good thanks, Michael, and how are you?'_  

Like it seemed common fucking courtesy to him that if someone spoke to you, you should reply. Right? Was that just him or was that not how basic conversation worked? But no - Free had walked them through his plan in a volume barely above a whisper and then fucked right on out with his Gemini buddies without so much as a goodbye, those ridiculous sunglasses on his face the entire time. 

Rude! 

That's what it was, just simply fucking _rude,_ and it hadn't taken Michael long to figure out why. Asshole clearly knew just what a big name he was - had probably noticed Geoff was impressed by his plan, since for a criminal overlord the other man didn't have much of a poker face - and clearly thought he was above talking to such common peons. That’s the impression he got, at least, and combined with all the other times he's seen Gavin lingering around Clayton's goons - silent, sunglassed, and completely fucking expressionless - he's come to one distinct conclusion.

Gavin Free clearly has no fucking soul. 

Not only does he look like a scrawnier, bigger-nosed version of Hugo Weaving's character from the Matrix, no one with a damn conscience would ever work for a gang like Gemini. Let alone be the mastermind behind the majority of their jobs. The money he pulls for them funds weapons, funds the drugs, funds everything. If Michael's hatred of Clayton is hot, his disgust for Gavin is cold, as frozen and unfeeling as the man himself. 

Sure fucking enough, Gavin turns away without so much as acknowledging him, reaching out and grabbing a paper napkin from the dispenser. He starts fiddling with it, deft fingers tearing pieces off and twisting them into neat little strips. 

Ryan sits next to Michael, and Clayton continues to beam away at them. He's a young man, probably only a few years older than Michael himself, and sturdily built, with a wide mouth that looks like it says ugly things, and fair eyebrows that make him look corpse-like. He’s always been polite to their faces, but Michael knows if he had access to some sort of weapon of mass destruction that could obliterate the Fakes in an instant, his finger would be at that big red button faster than a baby reaches for a lollypop. 

"You're not vegan, are you?" Clayton asks. "Because I did order meat." 

"No, we're not fucking vegan." 

"Good. Can't stand 'em." Clayton drums his fingers against the table and smiles. "And how are you both?" 

"Eager to get started," Ryan drawls, and Michael glances at him. Ryan's not wearing his mask - he's not that extra, and the restaurant's too posh for that - but even with his face clear and his hair pulled back in a ponytail, there's something intimidating about him. Still - Clayton meets his gaze without flinching. A cold blooded killer who doesn't fear the Vagabond. Michael's not surprised. 

"Good. So are we. Let's talk about Eastside. These assholes showed up - what, three months ago?" 

"That's when we first noticed them, but they must’ve been here longer," Michael says, and scowls just thinking about it. "They'd figured out who some of our civilian informants in the area were, and sold them out to the police. They must have an inside man with the ACPD. Geoff wasn't fucking happy, so we scoped them out but only found one base. Stormed the place, or tried to, but we couldn't get close because-" 

"They've got a damn tank," Clayton cuts in. "Yeah, we tried the same thing. They sold out our contacts, too, and all our runners in the area showed up dead. Not just dead - sent back to us with their damn tongues cut out." 

Something stirs in Michael at that -  a half-repressed memory; lips pouring blood, pale mutilated forms, bile in the back of his throat - he shoves it away, annoyed at himself. _Long ago - blood, brutality, it's the same everywhere. Leave the past where it belongs._  

"Sucks, man," he says, eloquently, and Clayton's lips give a humourless twist.  

"Yes, it does suck. They've cost us thousands in profit just in these last few weeks. So we'd better do something about it, hm? Now, I know your people and mine have had our differences over Eastside in the past-" 

"You can fucking say that again," Michael mutters; Eastside is a rich strip of land, ideally located right on the harbour between their territories. It's close to the docks but also leads away into the sloping mountains that surround part of AC, and they've been feuding over it for a couple of years now, neither making much ground. If these new bastards claim it, they'll have an uncomfortably strong foothold in the city. 

"I think, in light of what these people have done to both of us, it might be... prudent for us to work together on this. Or that's what the twins suggest, at least," Clayton adds, and Michael and Ryan glance at one another.

"Geoff's open to suggestions," Ryan says. 

Clayton smiles, but before he can continue the waitress arrives with their food. Michael can tell straight away that it's all pricey as fuck. He's pretty sure that's caviar on top of one of the dishes, and holy shit, are those truffles? 

 _Clayton better not be planning to split the fucking bill_ , he thinks grimly.

"Thank you," Clayton says, and takes a long, appreciative look at the waitress as she walks away, while Ryan and Michael stare at him in disgust. Michael's eyes drift to Free a moment after, just to see his reaction - but he's staring straight ahead, looking by all accounts like some sort of robot that happens to be in power-saving mode, and his suspicion that the other man is actually just a very fancy android only grows stronger. He glances away a moment later, hating how all he can see whenever he looks at Gavin is his own mirrored reflection, ghoulish and pale in the tinted glass. There’s something too uncomfortably vulnerable about it.

"Dig in," Clayton says, already dishing himself a very generous helping of pasta. Michael glances at Ryan, unwilling to participate in whatever the hell this is meant to be - but at the same time, it's free food and they haven't had lunch yet, and after a moment he grabs a fork. 

There's something very surreal about sitting here, breaking bread with Gemini of all people. It makes Michael more and more uncomfortable the more he thinks about it. What those on the street, passing by, are seeing - a group of four men huddled around, making an illicit deal just like everyone else in this damn restaurant - working together - that same bitter anger bubbles in his stomach again, and he searches for some distraction.

"You're not eating?" he blurts out. Gavin's just sitting there, fiddling with his napkin. 

"He's on a diet," Clayton cuts in, and Gavin doesn't add anything, just lowers his head and continues to tear his napkin up. He didn’t so much as look at Michael. It's a bizarre exchange, and Michael glances between the two of them. 

 _Probably just plugs himself in to recharge every night_ , he thinks, rather uncharitably, but turns back to stabbing at his own food. A moment later, Clayton speaks up again. 

"I think we can safely say that if this lot take this land, they will not be playing nicely with the rest of us," he continues. "And I prefer knowing just how powerful my enemies are. We need to figure out exactly what they have, and how we can take them down."  

“In that, we are in agreement,” Michael says, and Ryan nods. 

“The twins don’t want to do this violently,” Clayton adds, and Michael can't quite stifle his snort. Ryan's hand moves under the table to his leg, squeezing gently, and Michael glances over at him. 

 _Leave it_ , Ryan's calm eyes seem to say. He must know how Michael's burning inside, his disgust at this whole situation - but the warm weight of the other man's hand is grounding, and he manages to refrain from saying anything else. Still - Clayton must notice the look on his face, because he gives a tight smile. 

“This has to stay quiet,” he says. “We’ve got enough trouble with the police already. We don’t want to waste energy, resources or lives on these newcomers. Better if we can take them down as quickly and neatly as possible.”  

“Geoff’s of the same opinion,” Ryan says. “It’s why he’s sent just the two of us to deal with it.” 

“And that’s why we’ve got Free here,” Clayton agrees, brightly. 

Gavin's apparently not even fucking paying attention; his napkin is torn to twisted little strips that he’s arranging in some kind of maze.  Clayton reaches out and pulls his hand away from the mess without even looking at him, and Gavin’s head lifts, finally turning to the rest of them. 

“Thanks to Gavin,” Clayton says, “We’ve managed to get our hands on the location of one of their bases. I propose we work together - first to scope out exactly where they are and what they’ve got, then to steal or destroy both their ordnance and product, and finally to kill every last one of these fuckers.” 

“And who gets what, after that?” Michael asks.

“You can have the tank,” Clayton says, and both of them stiffen in surprise. It’s a generous offer. _Suspiciously_ generous. “We get the drugs. I’m pretty sure they have a lot. We split the territory fifty-fifty.” 

Michael glances at Ryan. His face is unreadable as always, but Michael knows he has to be surprised, too. They’d expected to have to push a little harder for the tank - whoever has it will have a hell of a fucking advantage in any future skirmishes, not to mention they're damn hard to get your hands on. Geoff's been trying for one for ages but it's just impossible. This almost seems too easy. 

“We’ll have to run it past Geoff and see what he says,” he replies, but he already knows the other man will say yes, and tries not to think about how part of him still isn't too pleased with that, even if he knows, knows, _knows_ in his heart that this is the easiest way to avoid harm coming to their own crew, to avoid losing men - their own people - to this gang. Gemini has resources they don't. Like the Gavinator 3000, the only one so far to manage to find a damn thing on who these people are. 

Unfortunate as it is, for now they need them. 

“Just this group,” Clayton continues, gesturing around the four of them. “Let’s not drag too many people into it. Gavin can steal their blueprints and figure out the best way to break into their bases. You two will be the muscle - Jones, you can cover our tracks so they don’t know who’s onto them. The Vagabond, of course, will be the force behind the operation.” 

Gavin nods silently, and Michael glances over at him, eyes lingering for a long moment. As always, it's impossible to tell what Gavin's thinking - but his lips are pressed together and if Michael had to guess, he'd say the other man isn't thrilled about this situation either. Still - the longer he looks, the more he notices. Like how Gavin’s hair is mussed, as though he's been dragging his fingers through it - that his sunglasses, expensive looking at first glance, are quite old, the gold paint on the rims chipped away in places. There's a thin scab across his bottom lip, like it split some time ago and is nearly finished healing. 

“And you, Clayton?” Ryan asks, and Michael jerks back to attention.

“I’m a busy man,” Clayton says, stretching lazily in his chair. “Just like Ramsey, I need to run our entire territory this side of the country. But we won’t have a problem if the two of you just work with Gavin, will we? He’ll report back to me every day about how things are going.” 

They all look at Gavin, who doesn’t so much as smile. Still - it’s honestly a more bearable thought than having to deal with the whole of Gemini, so Michael nods.  

“So what will step one be?” Ryan asks.

“Scoping out their base, and figuring out who we’re dealing with,” Clayton announces. “How many, what resources they have - and finding out where the hell they came from. Once we know that, we can figure out how to deal with them. Sound alright with you?” 

“If it’s fine with Geoff, sure,” Michael says, and Clayton looks very pleased. 

“We have a safehouse near Eastside,” Ryan adds, turning to Michael. “If it’s just the two of us working on this, it might be best to stay close by.” 

“I could stay with you.” 

It’s Gavin’s voice that pipes up, and Michael nearly jumps out of his skin. Even Clayton turns in surprise to stare at him. Gavin’s looking at Ryan, intently.

“It speaks!” Michael exclaims. Gavin ignores him. 

“I could stay with them,” he repeats, turning to Clayton now. 

“Why would that be necessary?” Clayton asks.  

“Our base is far from Eastside,” Gavin says. “If it’s going to be the three of us working on this, it makes sense for me to be close.”

“So rent your own fucking apartment,” Michael snaps. Now that the shock of Gavin talking’s worn off, he’s like, _fuck no._ The last thing he wants is to be _living_ with one of these assholes.

The dark glasses turn to him, and he sees his own angry face, his hunched shoulders.  

“We would be working closely on this, Michael.” Gavin’s voice is soft, and Michael hates the way his name sounds in that stupid accent. “Sharing a lot of intel. I’d be running all my plans past you constantly. It would be very inconvenient to have to be meeting up all the time.”

“Ever heard of this thing called a phone?” Michael barks. “Or here’s another one for you - hope this won’t blow your mind -   _the internet!_ We don’t have to live together to fucking communicate.”

“I agree,” Clayton says, pleasantly. “There’s no need for you to leave the base, Gavin.”

Something stiffens minutely in Gavin’s shoulders.  
  
“We can’t afford to take chances,” he argues, “Not with these people. Not when we’re working together. Maximum efficiency - and transparency. If we live together, we know that we’re all holding up our side of the deal.”

“Wait - the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan demands. “You don’t trust us?” 

Clayton’s stiffened now, too, glancing between all of them with his eyebrows raised.

“As much as you trust me,” Gavin says, quietly.

“This is a stupid fucking idea!” Michael’s aware his voice is rising, getting a little too loud, starting to get _looks_ \- but he can’t make it stop. “If you don’t trust us, the hell you wanna stay with _both_ of us for?” 

“I’m just saying,” Gavin replies, voice tight, “That if we’re all in the one spot there’ll be no unwelcome surprises and we’ll all be on the same page!” 

“Yeah, well you seem pretty _fucking_ desperate for us all to be in the one spot!” Michael spits, leaning threateningly across the table.  

Gavin raises his hands, and scoots back in his seat.

“It was just a suggestion. Sorry if it was a stupid one.” He casts a little glance at Clayton, and seems to wilt a bit. “You know best.” 

Clayton’s lips are pressed together now. They’re stained with wine like blood and make Michael sick to look at.  
  
“It’s their safehouse,” he says, finally, and jerks his head towards them. “They said they don’t want you there.” 

Gavin nods. He lowers his head, falling silent, and Michael is rather damn pleased that that’s the end of it - but Ryan shakes his head suddenly.

“Wait,” he says, and sighs. “He… he has a point.” 

“Ryan?” Michael asks, turning to him. Ryan’s eyes are fixed on Gavin, thoughtfully. 

“There’s no point running around trying to arrange meetings all the time,” he admits. “The faster we get this done, the better it is for everyone. And having us all in the one spot would definitely make things run smoother… prevent any miscommunications…” He trails off, and glances at Michael, who is staring at him in absolute horror. Ryan smiles, but it’s faint and apologetic. “There is room in the house for one more.”

 Dear God! He can’t fucking believe this! He feels sick, and cold all over, and can’t quite find the words to argue. Ryan must see it in his face - and Michael _knows_ that he’s just being cautious and wants to make sure they don’t get double crossed, but still. He doesn’t have to fucking like it. 

All he can do is stare, mutely, as Ryan turns back to Clayton and Gavin.

“I think it might work,” he says, resigned. “Like you said - it’d be far more efficient.” 

Gavin nods, and Clayton stares at Ryan for a long moment. Finally, he sighs. 

“Well, I suppose that should be fine,” he says. “Just make sure you keep me in the loop.”

Michael rises abruptly. He feels quite sick as he realises that this is going ahead - it’s bad enough working with Gemini, bad enough sitting here talking with them like they’re all fucking _friends_ , but the thought of Gavin Free lurking like a shadow all around the house with them twenty-four-fucking-seven is enough to make him want to puke.

“Bathroom,” he snaps, and marches out.

 

* * *

 

The restaurant’s lavatory is just as fancy as the rest of it, with shining tiles and individually cubicled urinals. But the walls and the floor are bright red, and stepping in feels like submerging himself in a pool of blood, and the crimson decor makes it look like the bathroom from _The Shining_. When Ryan enters behind him and Michael sees him in the mirror, he nearly jumps out of his skin, unsure exactly what ghost he’d been expecting.

“You okay?” Ryan asks.

Michael nods. He’s standing, braced over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. After a moment he reaches out with a shaky hand and runs the water, cupping his hands under the stream and splashing his face a little. He feels Ryan’s warm hand come down to rub his back, and closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, for a flash of a moment he expects it to be a younger face in the mirror, framed by long curls, with haunted dark eyes. For a moment - he can’t breathe.  

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says, and his voice jolts Michael back to reality. He shuts the tap off and the sudden silence is jarring, nothing but the last few drops of water echoing around the red room. “I know you don’t want him to stay with us, but we-” 

“We have no choice. Been hearing a lot of that lately.” He huffs, and tries to turn away, but Ryan’s hands on his arms keep him still. “It’s fine, Ryan, really. I’m just being pissy. I know it’s the smartest option. We said when we started all this, didn’t we? That we’d never let _us_ ,” a gesture between them, “Come before the crew.” 

“That’s not how it is,” Ryan says, sounding upset. “I’m not picking this over you, I just-“ 

“Want to be careful. Want us to stay safe because Gavin’s right, we _can’t_ trust each other. I said I get it. My hands are wet, asshole,” he adds, when he tries to move again and Ryan’s arms tighten around him.

Ryan turns him to face him and Michael looks up and meets his eyes. They’re alone - for now, at least - and he can see the clear concern in the other man’s face. He forces a smile. 

“You know why I hate them,” he says quietly, and Ryan nods. “It just hit me, y’know, that we’re gonna actually be _living_ together. Every time I look at him it reminds me of all the shit I’ve spent years trying to get away from.” 

Ryan nods, his eyes soft - but just being here, being close to him, is enough to make Michael  calm down. He focuses on Ryan, on the strong body against his and the arms pulling him close - after a moment, he rests his head on the other man’s chest, breathes in the familiar scent of leather and his faint aftershave. His next smile is more genuine. 

“But what you said before? It’s true - things are different now.” 

“It won’t take long,” Ryan assures him, and Michael nods.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and Ryan’s arms tighten briefly around him.

 

* * *

 

Back out in the restaurant, Clayton and Gavin are whispering.

Or, to put it more accurately, Clayton is whispering - fiercely, leaning in close, one hand making abrupt little gesticulations - and Gavin is listening, gaze fixed straight ahead, face like stone. The occasional small nod is all the response he gives to whatever’s going on. They stop talking abruptly when Michael and Ryan return to the table, which makes it rather obvious what the topic of their conversation was. 

“Everything okay?” Clayton asks, smirking up at him in a way that makes Michael want to punch him right in the middle of his soft face. “I do hope the food didn’t disagree with you. It can be quite rich, if you’re not used to it.” 

“I’m fine,” Michael snaps, swallowing his annoyance. “What about you? No problems here?”

“None whatsoever.” Clayton gives a toothy grin and nudges Gavin with his elbow. The other man sways expressionlessly against the movement, like a fucking statue. “Well, I suppose you’ll want to run all this past Ramsey, but otherwise we should be ready to jump right into it. The sooner we take these bastards down, the better, right?” 

“Right,” Ryan says flatly. He’s clearly just as unconvinced by the other man’s faux-cheer - but Clayton’s already rising, smiling like a cat who’s got the cream. 

“I’ll go and pay and we’ll be off, then. Do stay in touch. We are working _together_ on this, after all,” he declares, and Michael clenches his teeth and nods. 

Michael’s never seen a fully grown man _sashay_ in real life before, but it’s really the only fucking word to describe the way Clayton swaggers off to the front counter, wallet in hand, like he’s come straight out of the God damn Ministry of Silly Walks. He exchanges a look with Ryan, who seems to be stifling a snort. They turn to follow, when Michael feels a gentle touch on his arm.

“Michael?” 

He turns. Gavin’s the one who tapped him, so lightly Michael barely even felt it - he’s risen from his chair too, now, and his hand slips away as soon as Michael looks at him. 

“What?” he snaps, and sees Gavin swallow. 

“We should exchange phone numbers,” he points out, “So you can let me know what Ramsey says - and send me the directions to the safe house.”

Ah yes. The fucking safe house. The safe house where they will all be living together for the next God knows how long. The safe house that Gavin’s just plain invited himself to live in. That safe house. 

“Guess so,” he grumbles, his annoyance rising up again. He holds out a hand impatiently and Gavin drops his phone in it. Michael does a double take - the screen’s smashed to shit, like holy fuck, even Geoff’s isn’t this bad and he has a habit of throwing it at walls when he gets particularly annoyed with deals. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, how do you even type on this thing?” he exclaims. 

Gavin’s lips twitch sheepishly, the first indication that he is capable of human expression. 

“Carefully,” he replies, and Michael rolls his eyes, navigating very gingerly to the phone book.

“Why don’t you just steal yourself another one?” 

“Guess I should,” Gavin murmurs. 

He proceeds to hover over Michael’s shoulder as he enters his contact details. It’s very off putting. When Michael turns to give the phone back he takes the chance to grab the front of Gavin’s shirt and yank him close. Gavin sucks in a little breath, hands rising involuntarily to protect his throat and face. 

“By the way,” Michael growls in his ear, “You’re right. We don’t fucking trust you. Since you insisted on staying here with us, you’d better make it worth our fucking while. Any funny business and - well, you must’ve heard the sort of shit Ryan and I are capable of. I can make you disappear and even your buddy Clayton won’t know what happened to you. Message received?” 

“Loud and clear,” Gavin replies, flatly. Michael expects him to shove him off - but he just sort of stands there, limply, until Michael lets go of him. 

“Michael.” 

It’s Ryan’s voice behind him, sharp and almost warning - Michael turns to find that he’s returned, probably wondering what’s taking so long. Ryan’s eyes meet his, and he beckons. 

“Come on.” 

Michael nods. He turns and tosses Gavin’s phone at him - he scrambles to catch it. His shirt’s askew where Michael pulled it, and his face is just as blank as it was before. Michael snorts a little before marching to join Ryan. 

“The hell was that all about?” Ryan hisses, as soon as he gets close. 

“Just making sure he knows not to try any funny business.” 

“We didn’t need to! Not just yet, at least. If he didn’t hate us already, he sure will after that.”

“He’s part of Gemini,” Michael says, stiffly, “They don’t care about anyone but themselves, anyway.” 

Ryan looks worried. They’ve left the restaurant now, and as they approach the car he takes Michael’s arm and looks down at him earnestly. 

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to take some time off,” he says, quietly. “I know you hate them, but you can’t-” 

“Compromise the job? I’m fine, Ryan,” Michael snaps.  “You don’t need to worry about a thing.” 

Ryan still looks concerned - but he doesn’t push it, and Michael’s glad. He doesn’t like to think of how the anger’s still simmering in his blood, how even just being around Gemini makes him want to hurt something-

 _Burn something-_  

How it makes a sick feeling too close to guilt bubble up at the bottom of his gut. He’s glad to get into the car with Ryan and leave the restaurant behind them - glad to get away, even if only for a moment, glad they’re about to go _home_.

 _(You’ll do your part around here, won’t you, kid? Just remember, it’s for the_ family.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to runawayjustforanight, blackxhawk1, ryanbiwood, koletato, gaywood and especially miss-ingno for their help with this fic <3 <3 
> 
> Updates weekly, although the next one may be sooner as I split the original first chapter into two.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Mentions of past suicidal thoughts.

**ii. blue**

_He can’t forget the last few moments when everything was okay. At this time of year, it plays around and around in his head, like the handle of a wind-up music box, the grating mechanical notes of a song he’s sick of._

_They were in a car. It was raining outside, and they were waiting for their mark to come out of the building. A stakeout. He’s always hated those, but it’s more fun with company, and they were playing a game - each picking a raindrop and waiting to see whose would roll down the window first, like a race. Tracing their initials into the fog on the glass - R x W. Scrawl a heart around it and it means forever._

_“This is stupid,” he remembers saying at one point, but she just laughed -_ the last laugh - _and he remembers the fondness that swelled in his chest and God,_ God, _he had no fucking clue at the time that it was the last laugh, the last smile, and he remembers perfectly the last damn thing he said to her before it all went to shit, God, he can’t fucking_ forget _it sometimes, he said-_

“He probably won’t say a fucking word the entire time.” 

Ryan jumps at Michael’s voice. He’d started to drift away a bit - the car is very warm compared to how cold it’s getting outside, the streets sleepily empty. They’re getting close to the safe house, now, and he’s settled into a daze. He got barely any sleep last night. Closer to _none_ , actually.

Now he reaches up and rubs at his eyes, his head throbbing with that particular ache that comes with pulling an all-nighter - like it’s full of a building pressure, just waiting to burst out.

“What’s that?” he asks, and Michael scoffs.

“Free,” he says. “Remember how silent he was the first time we met? Thinks he’s above talking to us. So he probably won’t, like, be annoying and shit at the house. He probably won’t even speak to us. It’ll be easy to ignore him.”

“You’re very preoccupied with this,” Ryan observes.

“I am _not_ ,” Michael cries, offended.

“You are,” Ryan points out, rolling his eyes. “Just relax, Michael. The more cooperative we are with each other, the more likely we are to finish this quickly and without any setbacks-”

Michael opens his mouth to protest, but Ryan continues, ignoring him.

“-and the less suspicious he’s likely to be, making it easier for me to keep an eye on him and work out what the hell they’re playing at.” He glances at Michael and smiles wickedly. “Give us the God damn tank - there’s no way they’d just hand it over that easily. Geoff told me to keep him in my sights and check out his messages with Clayton if possible - see what they’re plotting.”

Michael’s mouth, open and ready to argue, slowly stretches into a grin.

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Of course. Geoff isn’t stupid.”

“Good,” Michael says, and rubs his hands together, gleefully. “Yes. Spy on the bastard. I don’t doubt he’s trying to spy on us, too.”

Ryan smiles fondly, glad to see him back in relatively high spirits. A moment later, they turn into the right street.

The safe house is part of a quiet cul-de-sac. It’s in a part of the city they don’t go to that often, and he himself has only stayed here once or twice before, but he knows it’s well maintained just like the rest of their bases are. This particular building fits right in with the rest of the street - a one-storey, low-roofed brick house, with a high wall around it, the garden a little overgrown, set back from the road by a long driveway. 

The gate’s already open, and when they drive in he sees that Gavin’s already arrived. He’s sitting on the front steps, flicking away at his phone. He looks up and shoves it in his pocket as they approach.

Michael might hate him, annoyed by what he sees as an arrogance in the other man’s silence. But truth be told, as Ryan watches him rise - dressed in black like Hamlet, sunglasses covering most of his face - he himself finds Gavin nothing but _unsettling_.

He’d never admit it. The Vagabond is meant to fear nothing after all, to take even the darkest parts of their world in stride without a moment’s hesitation. God knows he himself is pretty much the epitome of the macabre, with his black skull mask and the face paint he usually has under it, and the rumours he wears like a veil, keeping anyone from seeing beneath the surface.

But honestly, something about Gavin makes him uneasy. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s because Ryan’s looked into the jobs he pulls and holy shit, it’s no wonder they call him the _Shadow -_ he’s managed to slip in and out of some of the most heavily guarded facilities in the city without once being caught, even on security footage. Maybe it’s because he knows all about what Gemini do to people, and Gavin in his black clothes seems somehow like a spectre of death trailing along behind the others in his crew, not participating but _watching_ , a manifestation of the darkness.

Or maybe it’s the glasses, because Ryan wears his own mask for a damn good reason, and there’s something about the mirrored dark lenses on Gavin’s face, forcing you to stare at your own reflection instead of ever seeing his. Eyes are windows, after all, and he can see exactly why Michael’s always calling the guy soulless.

Or - maybe - Ryan’s just too fucking poetic. Maybe he’s just a kid with an emo colour palette who’s trying to look edgy. God knows that’s how Ryan started out.

“Here we go then,” Michael says grimly, and Ryan rolls his eyes as he yanks on the parking brake.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s two against one, isn’t it?”

“True,” Michael grins, and Ryan smiles back, and God, he loves him. He’s felt heavy and cold since last night, a constant _numbness_ pervading him - some days, it never goes away - but around Michael, his Michael, Michael the firestarter - he feels warm. It’s part of why Ryan fell in love with him.

Gavin nods in greeting as they get out of the car. His only luggage seems to be a duffle bag hanging from one hand.

“You find the place okay?” Michael calls out, and Ryan struggles not to roll his eyes.

He’s happy with silence - the Vagabond isn’t exactly the chattiest of fellows, after all - but he knows Michael will talk just to fill the quiet. And with Gavin around, it seems like there’s gonna be a _lot_ of quiet. This weekend is certainly gonna be interesting.

As it is, another nod seems to be Gavin’s go-to response. Michael mouths something at Ryan that he doesn’t quite catch, but he’s pretty sure it’s something along the lines of _what a fucking freak_ , and goes to the boot to grab their suitcases.

“How’d you get here?” Ryan asks Gavin quietly as he approaches the front door - less to make conversation and more to keep track of what resources are around.

“Bike.” A single, curt syllable. “It’s around the back.”

Ryan nods, satisfied. He opens the door and heads in, Gavin trailing a few paces after him.

The house smells musty and unused, even if he knows cleaners drop by now and then to keep the place in working order. A narrow corridor points straight into the living area, doors on either side leading off into bedrooms and bathrooms. The living room itself opens into an adjoining kitchen, with a dining room beyond that and a laundry to the other side.

It’s a small house. Compact, but with everything they need - and the memories are coming back to Ryan now. He’d nearly forgotten, but it was this place, a year ago, where he and Michael stayed. He and Michael and-

“Jesus, we haven’t been here in a while,” Michael comments loudly behind them. “Last time was, what, after the Humane Labs raid?”

“No, the Fleeca Job,” Ryan says, and swallows. “With Ray, remember?”

Michael freezes in the middle of the room, looking around - and Ryan can tell it’s coming back to him too, now, how they’d all stumbled back here bruised and bleeding but giddy with adrenaline. Three laughs, ringing out in the empty house - three bodies slumping on the couch together, chattering in relief that they’d pulled this off, pressed close to one another, warm, hearts beating, _alive_. That was back, back before Jeremy joined the crew full-time, before Mica - it feels like forever ago. Hard to believe it was barely a year.

He can see the mix of emotions that flash across Michael’s face and wishes that he hadn’t said anything. He waits, frozen - but Michael just turns to him, his eyes dark, and Ryan sees him swallow hard.

“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse. “Yeah, with Ray - I’d almost forgotten. Fuck, you’re right - it really has been a while.”

“Fun times, though,” Ryan offers.

“Yeah.” Michael’s lips twist. “Fun times.”

Ryan bites his lip. He wants to apologise for bringing it up, but Michael’s already turning to fling his backpack onto the couch and flick the light switch. The room lights up - spotlessly clean, if a little stale from being shut up for so long - and Ryan’s eyes run over the settee facing the television, the low coffee table, the drawers stocked with ammo lining the side of the room. A large map of the city pinned to the wall.

_So this is home - for the next few weeks at least._

He abruptly remembers Gavin, curious if he overheard the conversation - but the other man’s vanished, and it takes Ryan a moment to realise he’s slipped silently into the kitchen. He glances at Michael, but he’s already lugging their suitcase away, and Ryan leaves him to it.

“Free,” he says, rapping on the kitchen doorframe.

Gavin jumps. He was rummaging in one of the cupboards, and slams it quickly shut when Ryan comes up behind him.

“What’re you doing?” Ryan asks suspiciously. The first thing his mind jumped to was that Gavin might’ve been bugging the place so Clayton can listen to all their conversations.

Gavin just shrugs, and tries to sidle past, but Ryan steps neatly into his path. He stops, trapped between the cupboard or getting closer to the Vagabond. His shoulders stiffen a little.

“Just looking around,” he says. “Figured since we’re all staying here I might as well know where everything is.”

“Looking at what?”

“Mugs,” Gavin offers. Then, at Ryan’s disbelieving look, “I find them interesting.”

Ryan stares at him. The glasses are doing their job very effectively; he can’t read Gavin, has no way to tell if he’s lying or not.  
  
“In what possible way are mugs _interesting_?” he asks finally, incredulous.

Gavin swallows. He seems hesitant - but when he does speak, the words spill out quickly.

“Well, if you look in most people’s cupboards, it’s not like they just went out and bought an official set of mugs to put in their house. Most mugs are collected over time. You end up with a whole bunch of random ones. Tourist mugs or funny mugs or mugs given as gifts because they have something you like on them… if you look at them, you know where people have gone, or what things they like, or what kinda sense of humour they have… there’s usually a story behind each one. So I like to look at them in people’s houses and try and figure stuff out from them. I was really wondering what sort of mugs you might have in a safe house. Although to be honest, a safe house is probably the one place you _are_ likely to just have bought a regular set...”

He trails off, seeming almost _embarrassed_ , and Ryan stares at him. Christ, okay. That’s the most non-work-related words he’s ever heard come out of Gavin’s mouth, and he has to admit that it is fucking _bizarre_. The words slipped out in a rush, barely legible between Gavin’s accent and how fast he talks. But the second Ryan registers it, he can’t help his flash of amusement.

“I… okay. Fair enough,” he manages, because, hell, he can’t really argue with that explanation. It makes a weird sort of sense.

Gavin’s looking down, but he steps aside and gestures at the cupboard. Ryan moves past him to check it.

No bug. But Gavin’s right, it’s a pretty eclectic collection. There’s a _World’s Best Boss_ mug that someone must’ve given Geoff ages ago. A Three Day’s Grace band mug from their recent tour - Jeremy’s contribution, most likely. A bunch that have different elements of the Periodic Table on them, part of a collection scattered across all their safehouses. And, fuck, that purple one was Ray’s. Ryan remembers him using it all the time when they last stayed here. He reaches out and shoves that one to the back of the cupboard before turning back to Gavin - he’s crossed the room now to get away from Ryan, and is leaning by the kitchen bench. Ryan suddenly feels a bit awkward again, a bit unsettled.

“Michael and I are taking the room with the ensuite,” he says. “We’ll share - so you can have the other one, down the hall.”

Gavin nods. He grabs his bag and scuttles out without another word. Ryan stares after him, bemused - then looks back at the cupboard, and sighs, and goes to find Michael. 

* * *

 

Michael’s already put his clothes away in the drawers and is now organising their other belongings on the night stand with his particular obsessive neatness. The sight makes Ryan smile as he shuts the bedroom door behind him, glad for the privacy.

“I put your shit away already,” Michael says, without looking up.

“You mean my valuable and carefully selected belongings?”

“I mean your five thousand year old boxers that are super fucking gross and full of holes. Like, Jesus Christ, dude, get new ones already.”

“As long as something is still functional, why waste money?” Ryan asks, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch him.

“You can afford new undies.”

“But do I _need_ them?”

“I mean, _yes!_ ” Michael cries, “They are a necessary article of clothing for common decency and basic hygiene.”

He turns and grins at Ryan, who smiles back, happy to see Michael joking around again. He hadn’t liked how cross the other man got before - how worked up he’d been over Gemini. Still, he can’t say he’s surprised. Of all of them, Michael gets the angriest about the other crew - the things they do, the way they behave - he’s deeply invested in Geoff’s vision, looks up to the other man and all he’s built. 

Ryan’s done some bad shit, too. Nothing along the lines of the Hart twins - but still. He’s desensitised, he supposes. Oh, it hits him sometimes, but he’s quite sure he’ll be able to ignore Gavin lurking all around the house, unlike Michael who he can already tell will just simmer away with annoyance every time he lays eyes on the other man.

Still - it’s nice to see him smiling now, as he shuts the last drawer and flops onto his stomach on the bed beside Ryan, reaching out to poke at his leg.

“What’s Free up to, then?” he asks. “Lurking around the place?”

“Think he went to unpack as well.”

“Jesus, this is gonna be an awkward time if he doesn’t talk,” Michael says, rolling onto his back. “Like, what the fuck are we gonna do in our downtime? Sit in silence? Glare at each other?”

“He talked to me just now in the kitchen,” Ryan offers.

“Yeah? What’d he say?”

“He went on a ramble about mugs? It was odd.”

Michael stares at him, then huffs out a laugh.

“That’s fucking weird,” he says. “I bet it’s phoney. He’s just trying to play up the whole eccentric genius thing.”

“Yeah,” Ryan murmurs, but can’t help but wonder about it. For a flicker of a second, Gavin almost seemed like a normal person. It’s the sort of ridiculous conversation he would’ve expected to have with Lindsay, or Jeremy, or anyone else in their crew. And Gavin _is_ smart, there’s no question about that - Ryan’s pulled a lot of heists, seen a lot of thieves, and Gavin’s one of a God damn kind. It’s almost a shame he’s with Gemini - then again, he’s not the sort they want in their crew, not if he’s one of _them_.

“Still,” Ryan adds, frowning a little. “Silence is a given in our business, especially around your enemies. You don’t want to get too close, slip up.”  
  
“True,” Michael muses. After a moment, he scoots closer to Ryan and grins up at him. “Too close for you, yet?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. He laughs and reaches for Michael, hand stroking through his hair before running down his back. Michael leans into his touch like a cat before dragging himself to flop over Ryan’s lap.

They joke, but it did take a while, and a lot of working together for the Fakes before they developed _this_ \- their comfortable ease, the _warmth_ , Ryan managing to trust enough to let himself fall for someone again. There was a lot of pain, a lot of rocky moments - but it’s worth it for _now_ , three years on, the two of them together and all the good it’s brought him. To be close to someone is to be vulnerable - but he’s not scared with Michael. 

He leans down to kiss him, but the angle’s all wrong and their noses bump. Michael giggles like a child, and tugs Ryan down to lie beside him again.

_“We’re living together,_ ” he sing-songs.

Ryan rolls his eyes. It’s hardly the first time they’ve stayed together for a job, but it’s looking set to be the longest.

“I suppose this could be considered a trial run.”

“Maybe it’ll convince you to finally move into my flat,” Michael teases, poking at his side. “Not like it’d be messy or inconvenient.”

“I like having my own space!” 

“You could have your own room in the same space!”

Ryan just hums. But Michael moves towards him now, leaning over to nip and kiss at his jaw. 

“Now, Michael?” he asks. “Really?”

“It’s so quiet,” Michael laughs.

“Gavin’s across the hall!”

“I know. He’s silent as a ghost. _Oooooh_ ,” he jokes, and his breath tickles at Ryan’s neck. He has to stifle a giggle, and Michael grins wickedly. “What, does it tickle?”

“We can’t be noisy,” Ryan hisses.

“We can’t bang? This whole time?” Michael gasps theatrically. “So Free’s not only intruding on our safe house, he’s cockblocking us as well?”

“I didn’t say we can’t,” Ryan replies. “Just not right now.”

Michael doesn’t reply, but the ensuing quiet is so fucking awkwardly silent that it’s suddenly hilarious. They wait, but the entire house seems still as a churchyard, and after a moment Michael starts snickering and can’t seem to stop. It sets Ryan off too, and every time Michael leans in to try and kiss him one or the other of them starts laughing again. Finally they just flop next to each other, arms touching, giggling like children-

It’s happy, and _innocent_ , and when Ryan turns to look at Michael and sees his flushed face and eyes crinkled happily and curls spilling across the pillow, he _adores_ him suddenly. It’s only like this, together, that the coldness ebbs away and he feels like the empty space inside him is filled up - and for a little while he is not sad or scared, but things feel whole again. For a little while, together, everything is okay and he can almost _forget_.

* * *

 

Gavin’s sitting at the dining table when they emerge, his back to the door.

He’s got his laptop set up, and a tablet, and is typing furiously - pausing now and then to scribble in a notebook in front of him. There seem to be a hundred things going on at once on the table, but the only thing Ryan really notices as he comes up in the doorway behind him is that Gavin’s glasses are off, and set on the table beside him.

It makes sense. It’d be hard to use a screen with everything tinted dark - but it still makes him stop in his tracks so suddenly that Michael, behind him, bumps into his back.

“The fuck, dude?” he protests, and Gavin turns at the noise.

Ryan can’t help but stare, even if his face remains carefully blank. Christ - he knows from experience that under every mask is an unbelievably _normal_ human being, but it still comes as a bit of surprise to finally see the top half of the notorious, silent thief’s face.

He’s taken aback by how _innocent_ Gavin looks.

He knew the other man was young, but somehow - maybe because he works with Gemini - he’d expected the same hard, cold eyes that Clayton has, a certain cruelty of the face that comes with killers. He isn’t sure exactly how to put it into words - but whatever it is, it’s _absent_. Gavin just looks like a regular young man - thin-faced and gawkish, little shadows under his eyes. Handsome, if you’re into that type - somehow with the glasses off the rest of his face balances out the giant nose.

_His eyes are green._ For some reason it’s that detail that sticks in his mind - a sudden, unexpected brilliance in the rest of Gavin’s tired face. Green - with a faint yellowish bruise around one of them, like he had a black eye a few weeks ago that’s in the last stages of healing.

Beside him, he hears Michael let out a surprised murmur. Gavin notices them staring, and Ryan sees his cheeks turn a little red before he quickly turns away.

_Embarrassed?_ It seems strange, doesn’t fit with the sullen, silent image he has of the other man - but Ryan shakes himself and tries to look composed as he moves to sit at the opposite end of the table.

“How’s it going, then, Free?” he asks.

‘ _Are you fucking seeing this?’_ Michael mouths from behind Gavin’s back, making exaggerated pointing gestures at him.

“Pretty good,” Gavin mutters. “I thought it best not to waste any time so I’m continuing my planning to break into the base we’ve found.”

‘ _No fucking glasses!’_ Michael continues, and waves his hands about in a gesture that Ryan can only assume is indicative of ‘losing my mind,’ or else some sort of very strange interpretive dance.

“What are you expecting to find there?” Ryan asks.

Michael’s still pulling faces behind Gavin’s back, and Ryan shoots him an exasperated look. He rolls his eyes and finally moves around the table to throw himself into the chair beside Ryan. Gavin casts him a little glance as he moves, and apparently even that’s enough to set him off.

“So you finally decided to show your face, huh?” Michael demands. He’s sprawled back in his seat, arms crossed, absurdly reminiscent of the belligerent student who sits at the back of every class.

“What?”

“Your face,” Michael snaps, nodding at him, “Y’know, that thing on the front of your fucking head?”

Gavin looks briefly annoyed. It’s strange, without his glasses, to actually see him react - feels almost like an overload of information after so long of just _nothing_. Quiet as he is, his face tells an entire other story - one Ryan now has the chance to actually read.

“What?” he asks, voice tight. “I just took my glasses off. No big deal.”

“If it’s no big deal why do you wear them so often? Was starting to look like you wanted to hide something. Like you were like Cyclops with damn laser eyes or something.”

“Aesthetic,” Gavin replies, flatly.

It’s so sarcastic that Ryan can’t help his little huff of a laugh - mostly because he’s thinking of his own mask, and the rumours, and it’s not even really _funny_ because for a long time the reasons he wouldn’t show his face were deeply personal, rooted in shit he’d rather not share with _anyone_. It kept him closed off, distant, and in many ways was a cage more than anything else.

But it was the others’ teasing about his grim reaper vibe that lightened him up about it, stopped him taking himself so damn seriously - and helped him start to open up as well.

So it amuses him - but Michael doesn’t seem to like being made fun of, and likes it even less that Ryan laughed. He scowls.

“So what the fuck do you have for us then?” he demands.

Gavin’s face shutters over cold and blank again. He turns his laptop to face them. There’s a flickering security feed on the screen - the outside of a house, ticking numbers in the corner indicating that it’s live footage.

“Gemini hacked into the cameras they use to monitor their base,” he explains. “I say ‘base’ but honestly, safe house is a better term. It’s a residential one - seems like it’s where a bunch of them are staying while in AC. I’ve already cased the place in person, now I’m monitoring what times they’re usually in and out so that I can determine when best to break in.”

“And what exactly are we stealing?” Ryan asks, pushing the laptop back towards him.

“Personal artefacts to identify them with,” Gavin replies. “And the location of where they’re keeping the tank. I think by tomorrow I’ll have a plan figured out, and you can go in.”

“ _You_ ,” Michael points out, stiffening. “That’s a bit different to _we_.”

“Yes,” Gavin replies curtly. “Because I’m gonna be back here monitoring the cameras and surrounding roads to warn you if they’re on the way back.”  
  
“AKA sending us into danger, reliant solely on you,” Michael sneers.

Another brief flicker of annoyance crosses Gavin’s face.

“We’re working together here,” he says, tightly. “A little trust should be in order - and it goes both ways. After all, there’s two of you and one of me. You could kill me in my sleep but you don’t see me bitching about it-”

“ _Bitching_ about it?” Michael snarls. “Forgive me for being a bit concerned that you want _us_ to do your fucking job for you! You’re the master thief - shouldn’t you be breaking in?”

“I can direct you from here,” Gavin says. His eyes are carefully fixed on the screen, not looking at Michael even if he’s leaning towards him and glowering. But Ryan, watching silently, can see just how tense Gavin is - can read it in the lines of his face and how carefully _blank_ his expression is. “Believe me, when we’re breaking into more difficult places I will be at the forefront of every mission. But this is a simple one, and the last thing we want is for them to know we’re coming. It’s more effective for me to be watching from the outside ready to get you out of there if something happens. They already know the Fakes are after them. But they don’t know I’m on the case yet.”

_“On the case!”_ Michael scoffs.

“Michael,” Ryan says quietly, and looks over at him. “It’s fine.”  
  
Michael glances at him. Ryan knows he’s surprised - he doesn’t usually trust easily. But it’s not trust here, or at least not in Gavin, but rather his own instincts which for whatever reason are telling him that this is okay. Oh, he still wouldn’t bet that Gemini isn't planning to double cross them - but not here and now, he can just _tell_ , and Michael stares searchingly at him before finally simmering down and leaning back in his seat.

“Tomorrow, you said?” he grunts.

Gavin nods. He darts a tiny glance at Ryan, and for a second something almost _uncertain_ is in his eyes - but it’s hidden as he starts typing busily, not looking up from his screen.

“Yeah. By tonight I’ll have the plan all worked out and should know what time we’ll hit them.”

“What do you want us to do in the meantime?”

“Start looking up how to stop a tank,” Gavin says flatly, and Ryan nods.

Michael shoves his chair back with a noisy scrape, and strides out of the room. The second he’s gone, Gavin stops typing, twists in his seat to stare after him, then looks back at Ryan.

“I’m not going to betray you.” There’s something oddly fierce in his voice, and for once he’s actually making eye contact. “If he’s gonna be pissy about it, I’ll come on the job and he can watch the cams. It’s not as easy as he thinks.”

It’s a strange offer - Ryan doesn’t think he’s bluffing. Still, he shakes his head.

“No,” he replies. “And he’s not being _pissy._ ” A defensiveness towards his partner rising up as always. “Don’t fucking blame him for being suspicious. You think we’d trust any of Gemini as far as we can throw them? I don’t think you’re gonna double cross us, but he’s right not to bet on it.”

Gavin looks away again, jaw clenching, and after a moment Ryan rises as well, leaving the room.

He thought this would be okay, that they could get this done quickly. Professionally. But he hadn’t realised until now just how awkward and uncomfortable it is being around the enemy, around a _stranger_ \- and a funny, heavy dread bears down on him. A feeling like something’s gonna happen, and soon - something that will change things. Not in a good way. His instincts have always been sharp - he wouldn’t quite call it a premonition, but something just feels _off_ about this whole case. He can’t tell if it’s the new crew, or Gemini, or Gavin himself.

_Or maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re just being fucking paranoid_.

He hates to admit it, but that’s the most likely explanation.

_Don’t be stupid. It’ll all be fine. You just feel off - it’s the time of year._ He squeezes his eyes shut as he heads out of the room. Every time the memories pop back into his head, every _time_ \- it weighs him down like an anchor strapped to his back, making every movement and every thought exhausting, making him want to just fall down and curl up and sink into the earth. Even after five years - it’s not something he can shake off.

_It has nothing to do with the job. Don’t be stupid._

_It’ll all be fine._

* * *

The rest of the day passes… well, _peacefully_ , he supposes. Definitely very quietly.

Ryan’s doing his own research into the new crew, based on their previous interactions - but they really don’t have much. All they know for sure is that there are at least four of them - three men and a woman - but based on how much territory they’ve managed to scrape out in Eastside, there are probably many more. A few dozen. They’ve worn masks the entire time, and vigilantly, so there’s no clue as to their identities - but they’re all clearly experienced, both with weapons and criminal activity.

He’s trying to figure out where they got the tank from. It wasn’t anywhere local. His only breakthrough comes late in the day, when he’s looking into reports and manages to find out about a break-in at a military base out near New Jersey. It’s the only lead he has and he sends the information to Geoff.

_And Gavin? Will you tell him?_  
  
_Only if this job goes smoothly._

Michael’s sulking in their room - organising weapons and body armour for tomorrow, probably - and Ryan leaves him be. He knows he probably doesn’t want any of Ryan’s platitudes or assurances right now, content just to simmer in his own annoyance. 

_If this goes off smoothly we can part ways with Free without relations with Gemini deteriorating any further_ , he thinks - but somehow he doubts things will be that easy, and he’s pretty sure there’ll be any number of ‘I told you so’s from Michael if Free does double cross them. He doesn’t mind. He still thinks that here is the best place to be to keep an eye on things.

Michael emerges later that evening, fresh from the shower and wearing a t-shirt and jeans rather than his usual leather jacket getup. Ryan looks up from where he was sitting on the couch on his laptop, and smiles at the sight of him. It’s good to see Michael more relaxed, but it also sends a pang through him, because he _remembers-_

(A third body on this very same couch here with them, in the days after the job was finished and they took the chance to kick back and pig out now that the adrenaline rush was over, finished with, and for a few days this house was _home_ \- Ryan had only just started taking his mask off around the others, and it was freeing to have his hair loose and lounge around in his boxers-

And Michael was walking around in one of Ryan’s t-shirts, a bit too loose on him, the summer light always making his hair look more red, and Ray-

_Ray_ -)

He swallows it down. Just a flash of a memory. The golden evening sun, an image cut through the grid of a screen door - a purple hood, the back of a tousled dark head sitting out on the back patio in his line of view from the couch he’s sitting on now.

“How’s it going?” he asks. His own voice seems to wake him from some daze.

Michael turns and gives a small smile.

“Had a nap.”

“I thought you were being pretty quiet. C’mere.” 

He holds out a hand, and Michael comes over to him. Ryan tugs him down into a gentle, apologetic kiss. Michael lets him, pliant under his touch. In the background they can hear the _click, click, click_ of Gavin typing behind the shut dining room door.

“Found some shit out about that tank,” Ryan says, when they pull apart. He points at his screen. “I’m waiting to see if we can trust Free before we share any intel with him, but I’m almost certain it was stolen from a base out near Jersey. The crew must’ve come from near there.”

“I know the one.” Michael’s brows furrows. “Grew up near there, remember?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Michael’s lips twist unhappily, and _shit_ , Ryan thinks. He doesn’t want him to start dwelling on his past, too - knows he hasn’t in a while.

“Hey,” he says quickly, getting up to distract him. It’s bad enough having Gemini around - Ryan’s already heavy with his past, and the last thing he wants is Michael being dragged back under too. “Let’s make dinner.”

* * *

 

The safe house has been cleaned since they were last here, turned back into a blank slate - _except those damned mugs -_ and the pantry is well stocked. It’s easy to settle into their usual routine and let everything else slip away - they talk about nothing, ridiculous things, TV shows or current news stories or gear that they want as they move smoothly around each other in the kitchen. Michael cutting bread and making salad, Ryan heating soup and cooking eggs.

Michael’s halfway through telling him all about some new armoured car he wants when Gavin approaches the kitchen door. He freezes as soon as he arrives - they all fall silent - he’s got a cup in one hand and seems to have been coming to get a drink, but turns around without a word and walks back out as soon as they look at him.

“That was weird,” Ryan comments, frowning. “Did he want something?”

“Probably,” Michael replies dismissively. He turns back to rather aggressively chopping up walnuts. “But he hates us, so he won’t even come into the room.”

“If that’s the case, this is gonna be an awkward few weeks.”

“That’s what I’ve been fucking telling you all along, dude!” Michael exclaims. “Leave him be. He can be an antisocial asshole if he wants.”

Ryan raises his eyebrows, amused - Michael _was_ the one who hid in his room all damn day - but Gavin left so quickly that Ryan barely had a chance to look at him.

_Of course they dislike us_. The Fakes hate Gemini, and Gemini hates them, but Gavin… Ryan doesn’t know. He just seemed so indifferent so far that the thought he might actually hate them right back is… unsettling. Maybe it’s just because with his sunglasses off he seems like a different person, not the one who was so rude to them at their first meeting, who’s practically ignored them since then.

But he shakes it off. _Not worth dwelling on. This job won’t last long, anyway._

* * *

 

They eat in front of the TV, watching the news. Jack and Jeremy robbed a bank today - a small job they’ve been planning a while now - and they’re hooting over the footage of the ensuing police chase when Gavin slips out of the dining room and into the kitchen without so much as a word. They raise their eyebrows at each other. Moments later, the sound of the kettle boiling rings out.

“You think he’ll cook something?” Ryan asks, curiously.

“Dude!” Michael exclaims, through a mouthful of salad. “He brought his own food.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I saw him before. He had a fucking plastic bag with all his own stuff in it. Doesn’t even wanna share ours, apparently,” he adds sourly.

“What sort of food?”

“Like Mi Goreng and shit. Just instant noodles.”  
  
“What is he, a fucking college student?” Ryan asks, baffled.

“Or just really lazy,” Michael offers, using his bread to wipe up the last of his own meal and popping it into his mouth with relish. Ryan watches him, then twists to look over at the kitchen door again.

“Should the three of us be sharing meals from now on?” he muses.

“Dude, no. Why would we?”

“Just wondering,” Ryan mutters, a little embarrassed. “It seems a bit rude to just… leave him out. Since we’re all living together and it’s such a small house.”

“ _Rude?”_ Michael demands, and stares at him. “Jesus, Ryan, he’s _Gemini_. They’re thieves and murderers and you’re worried about him feeling left out because we didn’t make him dinner? Trust me, he doesn’t give a shit. What’s got into you?”

“Nothing. Sorry,” Ryan adds, a little flustered - around Michael, he can be - “Just - you’re right. It is awkward here.”

Michael just rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV. When Gavin emerges moments later with a steaming bowl in his hands, he freezes, seeming unsure where to sit. There’s a long, lingering pause in which Ryan sees him weighing up whether he should go to the couch opposite them, where there’s more than enough room - but he seems to think better of it, and takes himself to the nearby side table instead, where he promptly pulls out his phone and ignores them.

“Whatcha eating, Free?” Michael calls out. For all that he hates Gavin, Ryan can’t help but think that he sure initiates conversation with him a lot.

Gavin seems startled he was spoken to.

“Noodles?” he says.

“You bring ‘em yourself?”

Gavin nods, and in the dim living room light Ryan thinks he sees his jaw clench a little.

“Yes,” he replies. “Don’t worry, I won’t leech off your safe house’s resources any more than I have to.”

“What?” Ryan asks, sitting up a bit. For some reason the comment takes him aback. “You can take stuff from the pantry. We restock it all regularly anyway.”

Gavin looks startled.

“Oh,” he says, and Ryan raises his eyebrows.

“Not like we personally bought all that shit anyway. Geoff gets it in bulk to put in all the safehouses. I assume Gemini does the same.”

“Kinda,” Gavin replies, shrugging a bit. He seems almost embarrassed, hunched in on himself and not quite looking at them - but Michael suddenly shouts, and points at the TV screen.

“Oh shit, guys - look.”

The news has switched to another story, and Ryan freezes as he recognises the red and black masks that the crew were wearing when the Fakes last saw them. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, setting his bowl aside and leaning forward. “It’s them.”

Gavin brings his own food over to see, too, perching on the other couch as far from Michael and Ryan as he can get. The three of them watch in silence as the story plays out.

_“-not only did the Fake AH Crew rob a bank in Blackburn this morning, but they are responsible for a holdup on the Eastern line train running from the CBD through Eastside. Six armed men got onto the train at Manning Station and held up the carriage with guns before demanding everyone on board hand over their wallets and personal valuables. Two people including an off-duty police officer were killed and three others are in critical condition in hospital, one for a gunshot wound and two others who were badly beaten when they attempted to assist the other victims. The Fake AH Crew’s recognisable logo was spray-painted onto the carriage wall by the perpetrators before they fled the scene of the crime at the next station. They are still at large.”_

“They used our fucking logo?” Michael snarls, trembling with anger. Ryan reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, squeezing gently - but he’s simmering with rage inside, too. It’s bad enough these guys are pushing into their territory, but framing this sort of job on their crew? It isn’t even about the police presence, it’s about their reputation. Geoff’s always made a point never to target random civilians. It’s one of the reasons Ryan finally quit solo work and joined up with him. “What the fuck are they doing?”

“Trying to turn the city against us,” Ryan mutters. “Including our allies.”  
  
“They’re good,” Gavin murmurs.

“They are,”  Ryan admits. “Really good. It wouldn’t have been easy to get on and off that train unnoticed. These are no newcomers.”

“You’re right.” Gavin glances over at him and Ryan meets his eyes for a second. “It’s more likely that they’re another crew who’s recently moved here, seeking out better territory.”

“We’ll fuck ‘em up,” Michael growls. “They made the wrong decision coming here.”

“It’ll make it easier to track down who they are if they already had a presence somewhere else,” Gavin muses.

“It’ll also make it harder to take them down,” Ryan points out.

They settle into a glum silence. The news finishes with its cheery outro music and some banal talk show comes on, filled with too much grating, loud laughter and the shrieking voices of the hosts. Gavin’s started eating again, and after a moment Michael leans against Ryan’s side, taking his hand and toying with his fingers. Ryan stiffens, surprised. He glances at Gavin.

Their relationship is no secret, but they don’t exactly go around airing it either. Their whole crew knows, and quite a few of their contacts in AC - but he feels a bit uncomfortable now, because this can be a _liability -_ when people know your weak spots they can use them against you, you can get _hurt_ -

_(Don’t you know that, don’t you know that so fucking well, especially at this time of year-)_

Especially when he thinks about Gemini, and the things they’ve done. The wives that have returned home to find their husbands’ remains on their doorsteps. The parents who’ve had their children slaughtered to prove a point.

“Michael,” he murmurs, distressed - but Michael just squeezes his hand.

“I’m not gonna go weeks without touching you just because Free’s in the fucking house with us,” he whispers back. “This okay?”

Ryan hesitates - but Michael’s thumb, stroking across his hand, is soothing, and after a moment he relaxes and nods.

_That’s not you anymore,_ he tells himself, _you’re not scared all the time. With Michael, things are different. Five years. Three years._

Michael smiles, and moves in to kiss him. Ryan turns towards him - it’s a brief brush of lips, as casual and relaxed as they would be in their own home, but he still can’t help but turn to Gavin afterwards, waiting to see what his response might be.

He’s staring at the two of them, but looks away quickly. Still - no comment, no judgment, not even a sneer even if he must know they’re together now. He just turns back to his bowl and finishes his food quickly before unfolding his legs and climbing over the back of the couch, heading back into the kitchen without another word-

* * *

2 a.m.

Ryan lies awake yet again, sleepless.

Today had been better than some past years. He remembers too many times he'd simply lain in bed, trapped in his own grief, trying in vain to sleep and get the day over with, but often just ending up in tears, unable to do anything but think back on all the memories he spends every day trying to put behind him.

The fact that he got up and went to work and had a relatively productive time speaks volumes. It's Michael, he tells himself. It's Michael who's been with him every step of the way, Michael who makes him able to smile and laugh and _love_ again.

But Michael is asleep now, snoring soundly beside him, and Ryan stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling of the safehouse. It's been over twenty four hours since he last slept now. His eyes are dry and burning, his head pounding, but he just can't get his mind to rest no matter how many sheep he counts, turning his ipod on then off again, trying podcasts and soothing music and even fucking ASMR videos. Nothing works.

He glances at the clock, expecting it to be dawn - but only a few hours have passed since they went to bed, and he bites his lip. Everything feels strange in the middle of the night, in the darkness. Displaced and out of time, some liminal space like he's frozen outside of reality, like nothing that happens is quite real.

_Water_ , he thinks, and carefully climbs out of bed, trying not to wake Michael up.

By the light of his mobile phone he pads down the corridor towards the kitchen, only to freeze in the living room.

_Click click click click click._

It's coming from the dining room, and as soon as he hears the noise in the shadows he freezes, every instinct making him tense up, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Fists clenched, he walks silently towards the dining room door and pulls it open.

"Holy _shit!"_

Gavin literally leaps up from his chair at Ryan's sudden entrance, scrambling backwards, arms raised defensively. The room's lit up with the dim blue glow of his laptop screen. Ryan's nearly as startled, though he doesn't show it - his own heart racing.

"Gavin?" he hisses. "What the fuck are you still doing awake?"

"Working!" Gavin whispers back, but his voice wavers and even from here Ryan can see how he's shaking. With his glasses off his eyes look huge and white in the dark room. He wraps his arms around himself, chest heaving. "Jesus effin' Christ, you really scared me!"

"I heard a noise in here. Came to check."

"Could've knocked! What did you think it was? An intruder?"

"I forgot you were in the house." He'd been in such a daze since trying to sleep, exhaustion clouding his mind. Gavin stares at him for a long moment. His arms unfold and he steps towards the table.

"You look tired," he says softly. "You should sleep."

Ryan reaches up and rubs at his eyes. Things feel odd, the two of them here in this dark room, the clock on the wall a rhythmic tick, tick, tick, wiling away every second that he's still been awake. God, he wants to sleep. And it's strange having Gavin here, Gavin who he barely knows, Gavin whose black clothes make him look like a floating face, like the sort of spectre that haunts Ryan's dreams. Gavin who's staring at him with something almost concerned now. Usually Ryan would ignore him, would stride right back out now that he knows there's no threat.

But it's different in the middle of the night. His brain feels cloudy, like he can't cut through the fog to see anything clearly.

"Been having a bit of trouble lately," he replies. 

"Do you have... pills, or medicine, or something that might help?" 

"I'd prefer not to start using that," Ryan says, but even just the mention of it makes him think back to a time when he relied on that to sleep, when sometimes he'd wish he just didn't need to fucking wake up, that he could fall asleep and slip away forever - a darker time, a time he doesn't want to dwell on now. He shakes himself, and startles - for a moment he felt like he was about to wake up-

_(You're not asleep-)_

"Jesus, dude!" 

He realises he was swaying, and has a hand out to catch himself against the table - Gavin’s inched closer but is still lingering, standing back, keeping the table between them. 

“I’m fine,” Ryan says, and swallows a few times. “Was just going to get some water. You should sleep, too.”

“I can make you some warm milk if that would help?”

Ryan stares at him. It’s a generous offer, and if he was thinking clearly he might wonder why Gavin would even bother. The other man is staring at him earnestly, but Ryan can tell he is unwilling to stand too close. Something about his body language is off, and after a moment he shakes his head.

“I’m fine. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He turns and leaves without looking back. Gavin doesn’t come after him. Suddenly the shadows of the house seem more ominous, more looming - like any moment he could turn and see someone standing in the dark. A woman’s form. He used to be terrified of seeing ghosts. After his first kill and after - everything else.

His feet take him back to the bed, back to Michael, his original purpose forgotten. Head swimming, he climbs back under the warm covers and lies down again. The bedside clock is ticking, and he keeps fancying he can hear Gavin typing even though the dining room is on the other end of the house - and finally, unsettled and nearly delirious, he finds himself drifting away into something like sleep, something like memory.

* * *

**iii. lost boys**

_The problem is, it's not all bad. If it was all bad he could just block that shit out - but there's good in there, too, good that reminds him if he had done it all differently he probably wouldn't be alive today._

_You're not meant to go along with strangers on the street. But Michael's cold, and hungry, and tired, and ten fucking years old, and when Peter Kant takes his hand and says, "You're good, kid. Come with me. I could use you. There's others." He hasn't got much other choice._

_He'll always remember stepping into the base for the first time - it's fucking freezing outside but they take the steps down to the basement and when the door opens he's met with a rush of warm air and the babble of kids' voices, laughing - he remembers being scared as he's met with two dozen young faces, ranging from years younger than him to teens on the verge of adulthood - boys and girls with wary dark eyes like the others he's seen on the streets. But clean, and well-fed, and staring at him with a mixture of hostility and curiosity. He barely knows Pete at this point but he still clings to him, childlike, like the new kid on their first day of school, and Pete's warm hand on his shoulder feels reassuring-_

_Feels like a_ father-

"Good morning."

Michael glances up sullenly as he enters the kitchen. Gavin's standing by the kitchen counter with his hands wrapped around a mug of tea. He spoke so quietly that Michael half thinks he imagined it.

"'Morning," he grunts back, and Gavin turns away, posture tightening a little. He's got his sunglasses on again, and he's still all in black, making Michael suddenly wonder if he owns any fucking clothes that are a different colour. Like, ever heard of a statement piece. Even Ryan's not that intense about his colour scheme.

He sets about making his own breakfast. There are no dishes in the sink and he wonders if Gavin already ate. How long he's been up for. If he's called Clayton yet to let him know how everything's going.

"Where's Ryan?" Gavin asks after a moment.

"You're chatty today," Michael can't help pointing out.

"What, because I asked one question?"

"You initiated conversation twice in the span of like two minutes," he says. "Which is fucking weird for you."

"You barely know me," Gavin murmurs, but presses his lips shut and makes to leave the room. Michael isn't sure why he calls out after him. Call it caution, or at least that's what he fucking tells himself. Better to be around Gavin, to keep him talking, to keep finding out more about him. That way they might actually be able to anticipate when he's about to, y'know, turn on them and betray them horribly.

"He's still asleep. Think he only got to bed pretty late last night. He'll be up soon."

Gavin's frozen in the doorway. But he nods, now, and wanders back out. Michael follows him - he's got his laptop set up on the dining room table, and Michael takes a seat at the opposite end.

"Everything set for today, then? What'd you say last night, that we'd hit at noon?"

Gavin nods.

"Yeah. I'll run over the plan with you one more time once Ryan gets here." There's an awkward silence, then Gavin adds, without looking up, "I actually offered yesterday after you left - if you really want me to go in, I'll do it. I wasn't sure what experience you had monitoring a job from the outside, but I assumed you two had broken into places before, so I thought this would be better. But if you really don't trust me, you or Ryan can stay here. He said no, but I thought I might ask you. Just in case."

Michael stares at him. Ryan hadn't mentioned that - it's hard to tell if Gavin's just trying to get in his good books when he can’t see his face. But he shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine,” he grunts - Ryan probably wants to test him, see if he is trustworthy or not, and the two of them can more than handle themselves if something does go wrong. “If you are telling the truth, I should have nothing to worry about, right?”

“Right,” Gavin says softly. “And you’re fine to do the break-in, then?”

“‘course,” Michael scoffs, leaning back in his chair and shovelling cereal into his mouth. “I used to be a thief, you know.”

Gavin looks up in interest, and Michael immediately regrets saying anything. He’d blurted it out, mostly to show Gavin up. Let him know that they were not actually useless, that he wasn’t the only special one around here.

But it makes him, of course, think about _back then_ , about the shit he’s done that he’s spent a long time trying to make up for - he scowls and continues eating, making it very clear with his aggressive spoon movements that this particular conversation is well and truly over, and Gavin doesn’t press the issue. 

For once, Michael’s glad of his silence. 

Since they arrived in the house together he’s felt steadily more uncomfortable. Just knowing that Gavin’s somewhere here with them, that they’re working together, makes him feel like old shadows are creeping up on him again, like the past he thought burned away long ago has risen, phoenix-like, from its own ashes. He’s not sure if he’d quite call it _dread_ , but it’s something close to it.  Whatever it is, it’s hard to ignore.

Luckily, Ryan enters the room then, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He’s already done his hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail, and painted just the top half of his face. He moves in to kiss Michael, carefully.

“Morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” Michael replies, and looks up at him with raised eyebrows. Ryan’s eyes are a little bloodshot, and he’s sure there are dark circles under his paint, but he looks a little better than he did yesterday. “You sleep okay?”

Ryan nods. He moves to sit down and meets Gavin’s eyes. They both freeze, staring at each other for a moment before both turning away, but Michael frowns. He saw something pass between them - something questioning, some sort of connection that he doesn’t understand. But neither of them act on it, and after a moment Gavin turns his laptop to show them the blueprint on the screen.

“At noon everyone will be out. You’ll approach from the road behind the house and enter through the back yard. The attic window is the best way to enter, and the back door is the best place to exit. There are three rooms you should be searching - the two bedrooms on either side of the house and the back room, where they seem to spend most evenings. Once you’re inside I’ll direct you where to search and what to take. We want to be in and out within twenty minutes. Half an hour at the most. That’s just to play it safe.” 

“And if we can’t find anything?” Ryan asks.

Gavin glances up at him.

“We’ll always find something,” he replies. “Even the most innocuous item can be used to trace someone down. I’m going to be giving you both cameras to stream the inside of the house to me. That way we have a record of what’s in there.”

“Okay,” Michael replies. It seems straightforward enough, and Gavin seems very confident that he knows what he’s doing. Given his track record, Michael’s willing to defer to him - for now, at least.

Gavin nods. His eyes flicker between the two of them before he picks up his mug and stands.

“I’ll go, um, check the earpieces and cameras are all ready to go,” he says, and leaves the room without another word. Michael and Ryan are left in silence, and Michael reaches out and runs a hand down Ryan’s arm.

“Heard you tossing and turning last night,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, but I managed to get to sleep eventually,” Ryan says.

“You ready for today?”

Ryan nods.

“Ready to put it all behind me for another year,” he mutters, and stretches, glancing over his shoulder at the door Gavin just went through. “Let’s focus on work - and see if we can trust Gemini.”  
  
“Okay. Geoff texted me this morning. Wants to know how it all plays out.”

“Of course,” Ryan says. He smiles, and leans in to kiss Michael again - without Gavin there, Michael feels less tense, and lets himself relax into it - Ryan’s soft lips, the scratch of his stubble. Familiar, comforting. When they pull apart, Ryan cups his cheek and stares into his eyes.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks.

Michael fights a grimace. He doesn’t want to think about what might be on his face to make Ryan ask.

“Yeah,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “Just tired, and stressed about Gemini - about all of this - but let’s get this shit done and we’ll be one step closer to taking them down.”

* * *

 

Of course, things don’t go smoothly. 

That would be far too easy. Far too _fucking_ easy, Michael thinks, as he presses himself back against the wall of the hallway.

Oh, it all began well enough. With Gavin guiding them through their earpieces, and watching through the cameras strapped to their chests, they’d approached the building and even broken into the house successfully. There were no cars in the driveway. Everything was coming up roses, it seemed.

Until they split up, Ryan going to search one bedroom and Michael the other, and he moved to enter the bedroom only to freeze.

The door’s open - no big deal. Guy _inside the fucking room_ , now that’s a bit more fucking concerning, isn’t it? _Isn’t it,_ Gavin?

At least the man’s back was turned, as he sat at a table, headphones on, so Michael could retreat silently - but now his heart’s pounding and his hand’s on his gun and-

“Calm down,” Gavin whispers, but his voice is tight. “He didn’t see you.”

“Not for fucking long,” Michael hisses back.

“What’s going on?” Ryan asks.

Gavin swallows.

“There’s someone inside the house-”  
  
“ _What_?” Ryan starts, but Gavin drowns him out.

“Both of you, stay calm!” Michael hears him typing furiously. “We sneak back out. Ryan, did you find those documents I asked you to?”

“Yeah, I grabbed them, and the fake IDs, and the collector’s edition action figure - what the fuck did you want that for?”

“It’s old, probably bought secondhand. Those can be tracked down. Okay, we’ve got enough to work with, then. Michael, make your way back upstairs - quietly.”

“That’s your damn plan?” Michael whispers. He’s so angry he can barely think straight. “Sneak back out the fucking window?”

“You told us there was no one home,” Ryan growls.

“I thought there wasn’t!” Gavin squawks, so indignantly that Michael could almost believe him if he wasn’t convinced this is all some ploy. Christ, Gemini’s probably working with these assholes. “We want him not to know anyone was here. If anything, this works to our advantage if you can get out silently. The others in his crew will think they misplaced those things rather than being robbed. He’ll say he was home the whole time and won’t think anyone came in. Michael, go - down that hallway, turn left up the stairs-”

“ _Hey!”_ A voice shouts, and Michael doesn’t turn, just _runs_ for it, pelting down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Michael?” Ryan demands.

“Go, go, go!” Michael shouts as he sprints. “I’m fine!”

He skids around the corner and sees the stairs ahead, but footsteps are thundering down the hall after him.

“Ryan, it’s faster for you to go out the back,” Gavin snaps. “Michael, the window’s still open if you can get there-”

He breaks off, probably noticing Michael’s camera shake as a hand suddenly closes around his arm and he’s spun around and slammed against the wall. Instinctively, he brings his gun up, jabbing it into the guy’s stomach-

Only to freeze.

The man’s breathing heavily as he pushes Michael against the wall, tensing when he feels the gun point at him, but after a second his dark eyes widen in recognition too.

_Shit, how many years has it been? About ten?_ He’s older now, with a neatly trimmed goatee and his head shaved at the sides, spiky on the top - not a lanky teenager with a floppy fringe nearly hiding his eyes anymore. He got bigger, just like Michael did - got _strong_ \- Michael can feel the warmth radiating off his body as they stare at one another, pressed close against the wall.

He’d know him anywhere.

And he recognises Michael, too, his grip loosening just for a second, surprise flickering across his face.

“Well fuck me,” he declares after a moment - his accent’s just about gone by now, worn away by years here in America, years that Michael missed out on - “Michael Jones! But your jacket,” he adds, and Michael squeezes his eyes shot as he realises _fuck, fuck, his jacket_ , of course he’d recognise it, the signature brown leather with a wolf embroidered on the back, anyone in the fucking city would know it from the police reports - “So I guess you go by Mogar, now?”  
  
“Dodger,” Michael breathes, and the other man laughs. Michael can only stare up at him. Everything inside his head is blank, blank, blank.

“Jesus, kid. You sure upgraded if you’re running with the Fakes now-”

A gunshot rings out and Dodger ducks back, his arms rising defensively. 

Ryan’s standing at the end of the hall, gun raised. Michael takes the chance to squirm free and run towards him, but Dodger doesn’t bother following - just straightens up, twisting to look at the smoking bullet hole in the wall behind him, then at the two of them.

“Well, this is certainly gonna be interesting!” he calls after them. Ryan’s raising the gun again but Michael stumbles into him and catches his arm.

“Get out of there!” Gavin hisses, and Michael pulls Ryan down the hall. After a moment Ryan comes easily, seeming to realise that the man isn’t going to follow, just stare after them, chest heaving, eyes fixed too intently on them.

“Nice to see you again!” he hollers after a moment, “Little brother!”

There’s a mocking sing-song in his voice, but Michael barely registers it. He feels frozen - like time has stopped, like it’s someone else’s feet moving, pelting out the back door with Ryan, running, running, running around the block to where they left the car, not stopping, not looking back-

( _Not the first time you ran, is it-)_

“Michael? Michael!”

Ryan’s hands are on his face, and Michael can only stare vacantly towards him. They’re standing by the car now, but his mind is back in the house - _not that house -_ the first house, and the basement, and two dozen pairs of young eyes staring at him-

“Michael!”

Ryan shakes him gently by the shoulders, and Michael feels like he’s stirring from a deep sleep.

“He’s not coming after you,” a voice says, and right in his ear it’s so loud that it jolts him back to reality. He stares into Ryan’s clear blue eyes and feels himself return.  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Gavin,” Ryan snaps. The comm goes silent, and Michael takes a few heaving breaths, staring up at Ryan. His eyes feel dry and sore, like he’s been crying even though he hasn’t.

“It was him,” he says, voice cracking mid-way.

“Who?” Ryan urges, grasping his face again.

“It was him, it was _them -_ Kant - from Jersey - it’s them, it’s the fucking Lost, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ -”

He breaks off as Ryan lets go of him only to grab his hands, squeezing gently. He’s breathing too fast, but barely even registering it. It feels like - like someone’s turned off just a computer monitor, like he can’t _see_ anything, doesn’t know what’s happening, but still feels it all going at full-power. His pounding heart, how fast he’s breathing. His whole body shaking.

He sees the horror in Ryan’s eyes as he seems to decipher what Michael just said, and knows he knows what this means.

_It’s them_. He squeezes his eyes shut. This is a nightmare he’s had too many times before, and now it’s become horrible reality and _this was a bad idea, a bad fucking idea-_

_I don’t know what to do._

“What’s going on?” Gavin repeats, quietly.

Michael feels a surge of irrational anger towards him. He reaches up and pulls the comm out of his ear, throwing it to the ground and stepping on it. Then looks up at Ryan, helplessly, and falls into his arms, burying his face in the other man’s chest like if he could only hide from the world everything might be okay.

_It won’t be okay._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**iv. black**

_The worst part is, this isn’t anything new. The way he feels like he might throw up, the tightness in his chest and gut, like every breath isn’t getting enough air in - he’s_ used _to it, resigned to it. There aren’t many days now when he’s not scared - scared of fucking up, of pissing somebody off, of not working hard enough to deserve to be here._

_He thinks back to the beginning a lot. Pitch darkness. The click of heels on a concrete floor. The faint fragrance of a woman's perfume._

_"What's your name?"_

_"Gavin Free."_

_"What can you do for us?"_

_"Steal, I can steal anything you want, I can-"_

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

Gavin shoves his chair back and paces an agitated circuit around the room. After a moment he reaches out and slams his laptop shut, then braces himself against the table, lowering his head and breathing heavily.

"Fuck. Shit. This isn't good. Okay."

Both Michael and Ryan have turned their earpieces off - and taken off their cameras. It's radio silence and he couldn't be freaking out more. His heart's slamming in his chest and after a moment he sits down again, only to rise immediately and kick the chair across the floor, pacing and clutching at his hair.

_They think you did this deliberately. They think you turned on them - fuck, they probably think you're working with these guys too, you've fucked it all up now-_

_What the hell happened back there?_

He hadn't known the man was in the bedroom. He counted, there had been six people in the house, and six people had left in cars that morning-

Unless he messed up somewhere. Unless last night he slipped up when reviewing the footage and miscounted how many people were in the house. It isn't beyond the realm of possibility. He's been distracted - tired, and hungry, and nervous about being here with the other two, and Jesus bloody Christ he fucked up. He must have.

_Seven men. Fuck me sideways._

_And what happened with Michael?_

It was hard to tell what was happening, watching from outside like this, but something about the other man's reaction... something’s going on here, something that Gavin is clueless about, and that scares him more than anything. He doesn't like not knowing what’s going on. Ignorance means anything could be happening, and he won't be prepared for it.

And now... now he doesn’t know where the others are, or what they’re about to do, but the only thing he’s damn sure of is that they’re angry. He leans against the wall, hands pressed tightly to his face. He can feel himself shaking.

_You’re dead meat, Free, dead bloody meat. They're gonna come back here and-_

_And-_

And what? Yell at him, probably. Kick him out and tell him that there’s no damn way they’re gonna work with Gemini after this. Or worse - hurt him, hold him hostage, maybe even kill him. Even if they don't, Clayton won't be happy about this. There’s no way this turns out well for him - unless he can somehow convince them that he didn't have anything to do with this.

_Even so, you've proven you're unreliable. They won't want to work with you now_. _They definitely won’t want you to live here with them. You’ll have to go back to the base and…_

He bites his lip, remembering the restaurant - how Michael had grabbed him, hissed at him. _You'd better make this worth our fucking while_. How hard it had been not to flinch.

_They hate you. Of course they do, you're with Gemini and they're with the Fakes. Ramsey's lot. Ramsey with his damn code._

_Why the hell couldn't you have wandered into their territory instead?_

He inches back over to his laptop and opens it again, gingerly. The earpieces are still dead-silent and he opens the footage from the cameras that was taken earlier. The cam on Michael's chest had been pointed directly up at the man, and Gavin frowns.

At first glance he seems like your typical AC gang member. Rough-looking, muscular, with a scarred face and a nose that’s been broken one too many times. Young, Gavin supposes - a few years older than them, not quite Ryan's age. Handsome, with a little gold nose ring that shimmers prettily against his tanned skin. But there’s something in his dark eyes, something in the way he’s looking at Michael, that makes Gavin pause.

And what had he said? Something personal, something Gavin didn’t catch, distracted as he was trying to look for a way out of there.

Still. A face is a hell of a lead, so even if the mission was a failure, they've made some progress. But he doubts the others will see it that way, and he turns and looks out the dining room window at the empty road, another thrill of fear stirring in his chest. Any moment now, the others will return, furious. _Any moment now._

_You could run._

There’s a bloody thought. He would laugh if it wasn't so spectacularly unfunny. Run - if he could run he would've been out of this hellhole of a city years ago _._

_Run and you won't just be running from the Fakes but from Gemini, too. There’s no way out. You are completely and utterly fucked and all you can bloody do is sit here and wait for it._

He slumps against the wall and slides down, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. As he moves he catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the window opposite, and fights back a hysterical laugh. 

He looks pathetic, huddled on the floor like a scared child - his sunglasses shoved up into his hair, curled in on himself like if he hides his face, somehow the others won’t be able to see him and maybe he’ll be safe.

He looks over at his phone. He should let Clayton know what happened - but just the thought of making the call makes his heart pound faster and an ice-cold panic spread through his chest. He tunes out that idea and just lowers his head, trying to calm himself down so that when the others get back he can at least pretend like he isn’t fucking freaking out, like he’s at least a tiny bit in control of the situation here.

* * *

 

By the time he hears the car pull into the driveway, Gavin’s managed to compose himself to the point where nothing’s visibly wrong. He opens the front door for them, his gun a comforting weight at his belt, even though he’s not sure he could use it, if it came to it.

Michael’s the first one out of the car, and as expected he is very, very angry.

“You are dead as _fucking dicks!”_ he hollers, charging Gavin like a bull the second he sees him. Gavin stares blankly back, even if inside he’s scared as hell and kind of wishes the earth would just swallow him up and put him out of his misery. Michael’s face is pale with fury, but Gavin notices his eyes are red, like he’s been crying. That faintly surprises him. Michael doesn’t seem like the sort to cry much.

All that vanishes, of course, when the other man propels into him with the force of a speeding train and shoves him back down into the house before slamming him against the corridor. Gavin blinks as his head cracks painfully off the drywall. Michael’s hands are fisted in the front of his shirt, twisting until the collar pulls tight around his throat, making it hard to breathe. Gavin swallows a few times - the other man is crowding up against him, eyes black and angry, and after a moment he snatches Gavin’s glasses off his face and throws them to the ground. _That_ , out of everything, makes Gavin flinch back.

“You’re fucked,” Michael declares, and Gavin swallows again, trying hard not to show just how fucking freaked out he is.

“I can explain,” he begins, but Michael pushes him harder against the wall, weight bearing down on him. He’s shorter than Gavin by a little, but it doesn’t make much difference when Gavin can feel how strong he is. He could probably break his neck without much effort. If his reputation’s anything to go by, he definitely knows how.

“You can explain? Please do, Free, because what the fuck was that back there? You said there’d be no one home, that we’d have half an hour at the least, but that house was not fucking empty-”

“You’re right,” Gavin cuts in. If he stares at a point just above Michael’s eyes he’s pretty sure the other man can’t tell the difference, and talking very quietly helps him sound calmer than he is. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

“See, I find that hard to believe,” Michael snaps. “You’re meant to be the best at this shit, aren’t you? The best don’t make mistakes. And it’s pretty fucking convenient that the first time you slip up happens to be on the one job where Ryan and I are in the damn firing line while you’re safely back here!”

Shit. It’s hard to argue with that - but damn it, Gavin _would_ have come along, had _offered_ to - it was pure bad luck that this had happened. He’d been up nearly all night checking and double checking their plan, oblivious to the fact that earlier he’d counted the wrong amount of people. He’s kicking himself for it now. _Stupid. You’re so fucking stupid_.

“It was a mistake,” he repeats, softly, “I know you’re angry. I would be too. I thought there were only six people in the house, but there were seven. I don’t usually slip up like that but with these guys pushing against Gemini so hard I’ve had a lot on my plate. One stupid miscount fucked up the whole thing. I’m sorry.”

Michael scowls, and it’s pretty obvious he’s not convinced. Gavin swallows, nervously - his head hurts where it hit the wall, a constant aching throb.

Ryan approaches then, with his black skull mask on. He looms behind Michael, his shadow falling over Gavin, who stares up at him with wide eyes.

If Michael's intimidating, Ryan is terrifying. Gavin's heard all about the Vagabond - everyone knows he's the most efficient killer around. Not only that, but there are rumours about his interrogation methods - about how slowly he can make someone die - only those who fall under his wrath, only those who deserve it, but it makes every kill personal. Painful. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to straighten up where Michael's still pressing him against the wall, meeting Ryan's eyes as best he can.

"I didn't do this," he repeats, fiercely. "I swear - it wasn't me. Why would I possibly want you dead?"

Ryan laughs - a harsh, cruel sound. It's a far cry from the man Gavin saw wandering around at two in the morning. Then he'd seemed human - pale and tired and as mortal as the rest of them. But when he's decked out in leather and bones things are different - he almost can't reconcile the two.

"Why would you want us dead?" Ryan demands. "Because you're fucking Gemini. You've wanted us out of the way for a long, long time. And taking out two of Ramsey's inner crew would be a hell of a good start. Should've guessed you were working with those scumbags. You were right, Michael. We shouldn't have trusted them-"

"If I was working with them, why the hell would I still be here? I would've split as soon as things went wrong and he didn't end up killing you!" Gavin protests. "I had more than enough time to run when you were coming back. But I didn't. I stayed here, I just opened the damn door for you, because this wasn't deliberate. I didn't turn on you, and we're not working with them!"

He's almost glad Michael knocked his glasses off - it means he can stare earnestly at the two of them. Michael's pressed so close against him he's sure the other man must be able to feel him shaking, but it's Ryan he looks at - Ryan who he spoke to last night, Ryan who he somehow feels will be able to tell that he's not lying here. Ryan who might possibly believe him.

The other man stares back at him. The mask casts his eyes into shadow and Gavin can't tell what he's thinking. But the silence stretches on, and finally Gavin takes a deep, shaky breath.

"That job was a shitfest, but we still got something out of it. We saw that guy's face - we can figure out who they are-"

Michael's fist hits the wall right next to his head and Gavin breaks off with a gasp, jolting backwards - for a moment he can't believe it didn't hit him, and can only stare at Michael with wide eyes, breathing so fast he feels almost dizzy. The look on Michael's face scares him even more than the blow did - his eyes are so dark they're nearly black, his lips pulled taught into a furious sneer.

"I know," he grunts, "Exactly who they are!"

Gavin stares at him in confusion, too scared to speak. Ryan steps forward, and puts a hand on Michael's shoulder. He's shaking too, now, but Gavin sees him slowly calm under the other man's touch. Ryan pulls him back, away from Gavin, and keeps one arm around him as they both stare at him suspiciously.

Without Michael on top of him, he can finally draw in a deep breath. But he can tell they both aren't convinced, and he's more confused than ever - _Michael knows them? What's going on here, who are they, surely if he knows them he wouldn't think that I do-_

"Prove it," Ryan says, flatly. "Prove that you had no idea he was in the house. Prove that you didn't do this to try and get us out of the way."

Gavin swallows a few times. He can hear the threat in Ryan's voice - knows that he's not leaving this damn house until they're satisfied - but after a moment he nods.

"I can," he says, shakily. "I can. I mean, I can prove we're not working with them, I... I can prove Gemini isn't part of all this, whoever the hell they are."

"Go ahead then," Michael sneers, arms folded, and Gavin sees Ryan squeeze his arm. He feels a sudden shot of something close to envy - it'd been a surprise to find out that the two of them were together. He'd had no idea, even in all his work spying on the Fake AH Crew for Gemini. And now, now he almost resents Michael, because the other man is clearly scared of whatever's happening here too, but he has someone to comfort him. Two against one. Not just that, but they care about each other - and their crew. It's something Gavin can barely understand, but he wishes desperately now that he wasn't on the other damn side of it.

Still. There's nothing he can do about that, and instead he gestures down the hallway into the house.

"Can I show you something?"

Ryan nods. Gavin slowly pushes off the wall, but before he can even take a step, Ryan grabs his arm. He tenses - but Ryan just holds out a hand.

"Your gun," he says, coldly.

Gavin bites his lip. He’s reluctant to give it up, to leave himself unarmed. He’s not much of a fighter anyway and without it he’s completely at their mercy. But Ryan’s waiting, one hand still gripping Gavin’s arm tightly, and after a moment he sighs and hands it over. Ryan snatches it and passes it to Michael before shoving Gavin down the hall.

“Go on then,” he snaps.

Gavin takes a shaky breath, catching himself against the wall before turning and walking towards the back room and his laptop. He can hear the others muttering behind him, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and is suddenly far too acutely aware of their presence behind him - how easily they could shoot him in the back of the head. He wouldn’t even see it coming.

_Calm down. You can still fix this. Get out of it like you get out of everything._

His laptop’s sitting on the table where he left it. He approaches slowly, hands raised.

“I’m just grabbing my USB,” he says, when he reaches into his bag. Ryan nods. He’s got his gun pointed at Gavin now, and Michael, behind him, is holding his by his side. Gavin swallows hard and takes out the USB, sticking it into the computer and navigating to the files.

“Clayton wasn’t lying when he said these guys murdered our civilian contacts. I have the… _evidence_ here.” He grimaces as he pulls the images up, turning away quickly before he has to look at them, knowing they’ll just make him gag. Waving a hand towards the screen, he adds, “Each of these people was invaluable to Gemini’s operations in Eastside. I know all their names and can tell you exactly what each of them did. Alistair Calvin owned the properties some of the gang’s meth labs are in. Pearl Chung - she was a doctor, a _surgeon_. Used to come to our base if someone got injured and we couldn’t get to a hospital. Cleo Khan - worked with the police and used to help us dispose of any evidence they gathered. The list goes on. See what happened to them.”

He moves away as Ryan and Michael cautiously inch around the table. He sees them both stiffen in surprise, Michael’s eyes widening as he leans in to look at the screen.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, and Gavin swallows. Just the memory of the photos makes bile rise in his throat. "That's some fucked up shit."

Gavin closes his eyes for a moment. He hasn't forgotten the pictures, not since he saw them. The mutilated bodies, the amount of blood, shit that's meant to stay inside a human body put on display for anyone to see. It's not even the worst thing he's seen since joining Gemini, but... that sort of thing sticks with you.

It's not what he ever wanted to get into, not what he wanted out of any of this, but it's left him with nightmares he can't get over and images he can't forget. He'd feel bad for showing them if he didn't think they'd seen far worse, too. If they weren't giving him no other choice, here.

Ryan's shoulders have stiffened, but Gavin can see him using the trackpad to flick between the pictures. After a moment, Gavin swallows.

"I know you hate us," he says, voice cracking a little. "But Dr Chung was kind. One time I... I was hurt pretty bad and she patched me up. Didn't even charge us like she usually does. I know this sounds like I'm pulling it out of my arse but...  for a gang doctor she was nicer than anyone else in our business. Used to help out some of the Eastside homeless too. I liked her. I liked her a lot. And they - they - well, you can see what they bloody well did to her."

The two of them are silent, heads lowered over the computer screen.

"They found out she worked for us and they killed her. No other reason. She's dead because she helped us and if you think any of us would fucking work with them after that, you're dreaming. I'm sure you had informants like that, too."

"They didn't mutilate ours like this," Michael grunts, but after a moment he looks up at Ryan and his voice drops lower. "It's them, Ry. They... they used to do this shit. Hell, _I_ used to-"

"Okay," Ryan cuts in, and his mask turns briefly towards Gavin. "Okay."

"He's not lying. They did this. It's practically Kant's signature."

Ryan nods, slowly. After a moment he adds, "Good doctors, let alone surgeons, are hard to come by. If we can verify that Pearl Chung did work for you-"

"I've got all the proof on there. I can show you, if you like." Gavin's arms are wrapped around himself; he forces himself to straighten up and at least attempt to look confident. "Not to mention, why the hell would I still be here if I was working with them? Why would I hand you my gun instead of finishing off what that guy in the house couldn't do? Why would I insist on staying with you, where I'm potentially in danger, rather than working from afar? I could just as well have sent you on the job without living here with you. But I want this to go well. I want to take these guys down just as much as you do."

Part of that is a lie, but he knows they can't tell. Knows that his voice comes out smooth and more confident than he feels. Knows that he'll be able to talk himself out of this just like he's talked himself out of bad things before. It's the only reason he's been alive for the last year, after all.

Ryan and Michael glance at each other, and Gavin takes a deep breath.

"You know the Hart twins," he says. "They don't take kindly to people who attack their crew. After what these guys did to us, there's no way they'd agree to work with them, even if it was to take down the Fakes. We'd rather work with you."

"Janica Hart poisoned that FBI Agent who took out their informants over on the West coast," Michael murmurs to Ryan, who nods.

"I recall. He'd offered them a deal, too."

Gavin can tell they're wavering. He takes the chance to move across the room where they can't reach him as easily, lingering near the door, ready to run if he has to. The two of them whisper together for a few moments - Michael still looks cross, and it's hard to tell what's going through Ryan's mind, but after a moment he reaches out and closes the laptop screen. Finally, they turn back to Gavin.

"You fucked this up one time. How can we trust you won't get us killed again? Why should we even bother continuing to work with you?" Ryan demands.

_There it is._ Gavin bites his lip.

"This hit was a bit rushed, I'll admit that myself. Next time, we come up with the plan together. Make sure everyone knows what they're doing. And any future work, I go in myself. If I'd been the one in that house I might've been able to sneak out without being seen."

Michael straightens in indignation.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" he snaps.

"You freaked out in there. The second you saw that guy you were agitated. You must've made some noise, something that alerted him to your presence. Staying calm is the key to-"

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Michael spits. It takes Gavin a second to realise that he's actually, properly pissed him off; Michael's always angry but this is some new level of mad as hell. "You're the one who fucking insisted the two of us go in!"

"I know, I-"

"So don't you fucking come here and tell me I was the one who messed the job up when it was your damn mistake in the first place! Jesus Christ."

He slams a fist down on the table then, after a second's thought, snatches up the nearest thing on the table - Gavin's notepad - and lobs it at him.

He flinches, arms rising to protect his head. The book slams into the wall next to him. It's paper, wouldn't even have hurt that much, but his heart's pounding and suddenly all he can think is he needs to get out of there. They're too angry. He's pretty sure he's convinced them, but they're too angry, and _you can't stay here. It's not safe. Get out, get out, get out._

"I'm gonna go," he says, gesturing at the door. "Take a walk, give you some space to discuss this. I need some air. I won't take any of my stuff, so you don't need to worry about me running."

They glance at each other, but when Gavin turns and walks away, they don't follow. The second he's out of the room it feels like the vice around his chest has eased, and with every step he takes away from them it gets a little easier to breathe. He picks up his sunglasses as he passes through the corridor and puts them on before walking out of the house and away down the street.

* * *

 

It's cold outside. Winter's coming, and he didn't bring a jacket, but Gavin barely cares as he wanders around the block.

This is a nice neighbourhood. Eastside isn't the best place to live - despite its ideal location for the gangs, it's a rough area and far from the CBD - but these few blocks are quiet, and he can see a few of the residents are elderly men and women tending their front gardens, or sitting on their porches smoking or reading, glancing up to watch him pass but not seeming bothered by the presence of a new, strange man in their neighbourhood.

The sky is grey, and it casts a gloom over the houses, but still - this is what he was imagining when he came to Achievement City. A neighbourhood just like this, a home, to be able to forge a new life for himself. Just his luck, he thinks bitterly, as he wraps his arms around himself against a particularly chilly blast of wind, that even now he's trapped, even now he's got to worry about Michael and Ryan and what they think of him. What they might do to him.

Still. It’s good to get out, to be on his own for a bit. He turns down another street and sees a bus shelter - it’s a nice spot to sit down. He wraps his arms around himself and picks at his shirt, frowning - there’s a hole forming under one arm. 

A police car rolls by, and he automatically stiffens - but the officer driving looks bored; a large, older man who seems to be eating a burrito as he drives lazily by. Clearly it’s just some sort of routine patrol, or he’s passing through on the way to somewhere else.

_You could go up to him right now,_ he thinks. _Report Gemini. Tell them how much you know. Get a plea bargain. You could sell out the Fakes, too, sell them_ all _out. You’d get a pretty package._

For a moment, it swims into his head - a vague fantasy of himself sitting there telling the cops everything he knows. A fierce-eyed detective - one of the good ones who wants to actually clean up this shithole of a city - leaning in and squeezing his shoulder. _Don’t worry. We’ll protect you now._ He just happens to look exactly like Matt Bomer.

He shakes himself, scoffing.

_You’re having a laugh. You’d be dead meat - they wouldn’t be able to take all of them down. Even the cops can’t protect you in this city. If you did that - you’d better pray Ramsey gets to you first because the Harts would make it painful._

_The police can’t and won’t help you now._

The car leaves, taking his daydreams with it in a haze of stinking exhaust, and he closes his eyes for a moment, picking distractedly at the hole in his sleeve and grimacing when he manages to make it bigger by accident. His mind drifts to every little anxiety. The police in the area. What might be happening in the gang they’re tracking, now that they’ve seen Michael and Ryan. What he’ll eat tonight. _If_ he’ll eat tonight. If the others will let him stay in the safe house.

_God, they’ve got to let you stay in the safe house. You have to fix this somehow, you_ have _to stay here - you’ve got to talk them into it. What else can you offer them?_  
  
His phone vibrates in his pocket suddenly, making him jump so hard that he lets out an audible noise of surprise. He pulls it out, hand shaking.

_Alex Clayton_ , the cracked screen reads, and Gavin’s hand tightens around the phone. Just the sight of the name makes him feel ready to throw up.

_He’s gonna ask how things are going - God, what do you say, what do you say-_

_If he knows you fucked up-_

But he knows better than to keep Clayton waiting, and answers the phone a moment later.

“Alex?”

“Gav!” Clayton’s voice rings out. God, Gavin can just picture him, lounging in his chair, feet up on his desk, probably with a beer in hand. “I just wanted to check in, see how shit’s going. You said you were pulling that job at noon, right? How’d it go?”

Gavin swallows, and takes a deep breath. Over the phone is easier.

“It went just fine,” he replies, calmly. “In fact, we have more than enough to work out who these guys are. I’m just about to run some searches and as soon as we have a positive ID you’ll be the first to know.”

“Glad to hear it. So it all went smoothly, then? No problems?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Excellent,” Clayton says. There’s a pause, and Gavin can hear him typing something, but he knows better than to try to hang up or end the call.

“And how about the others?” Clayton asks after a moment. “What’s it like living there with them?”  
  
“Tense,” Gavin says carefully, “But we’re getting there. Definitely more efficient - and as we start taking down members of the gang it will be good having the Vagabond on our side.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too fucking comfortable,” Clayton warns. “You know we’re taking them out after this and I’m gonna need you to make sure you get that tank before they do - so when you find out where it is, you tell me before telling them anything.”

“Of course.”

“Just making sure. In fact,” Clayton adds, “It might be better if you come back to the base before then - just to make sure they don’t see any info you might have.”

“I was actually thinking it might be better to stay right to the end,” Gavin replies quickly. “Just so that I know how much _they_ know. As we get close to taking this crew down I bet they’ll start planning to turn on us, too. They seem like the sort. If I’m here I’ll be able to report back to you everything I see or hear on the Fakes’ movements. I don’t doubt they’ll be plotting something with Ramsey. You know?”

Another long pause. He holds his breath.

“I suppose so,” Clayton says grudgingly. “But I want to see you, and soon.”

“Okay-”

“Tonight,” he barrells on, “I want an in-person report.”

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut. He feels his heart rate pick up, but his voice is calm as he replies, “Yes. Of course.”

“Good. Don’t let me down. What’s that noise, by the way?”

Gavin blinks, and looks around. It’s the road - there are cars passing by now, and the background noise must be getting through.

“I’m outside,” he says.

“The fuck are you outside for?” Clayton snaps, and Gavin jumps a little. 

“I had to walk to the shops to get something. I’m headed back in a minute.”

“Okay,” Clayton says, but there’s a warning note in his voice, and Gavin knows he’s still not totally happy about this situation. “Six pm tonight. Don’t be late.”

“Yes.”

Clayton hangs up and Gavin lets out a shaky breath. It’s easy to lie on the phone. Not so much in person. But it’s fine - Clayton doesn’t have to know he fucked up. He’ll _fix_ this - and he’s staying in this God damn safe house, no matter what any of them try to do.

* * *

 

**v. dodger**

_Michael gasps as a hand closes around his wrist, twisting until he drops the wallet. But a moment later - a grin, the flash of white teeth in a dark face, eyes crinkling cheekily._

_“Hey - you’re getting there. Just those last few seconds that gave you away.”_

_“I fucked it up again,” Michael grumbles, rubbing his arm._

_“Nah, it just takes practice! Won’t be long until Kant starts sending you out with the rest of us. Besides - I’ll look out for you.” He ruffles Michael’s hair - Michael bats him away, but laughs. “Then you’ll get a cool-ass nickname like the rest of us.”_

_“Yeah, because Dodger’s so cool.”  
  
_ _“Geez, Michael.” A hand clapped to his thin chest. “You wound me.”_

_Michael smiles. He feels filled with warmth - the concrete basement, the rickety old building down the south side of the city feels like home._ This _feels like_ family _\- this boy just a few years older than him but with a seeming world of experience in his dark eyes and light fingers. His name is Benjie, but that’s the name his parents gave him, and like hell they’re gonna keep anything from those assholes, not when they don’t need them anymore. Michael almost wants to change his, too. And he’s Michael’s first friend here, his mentor, and for the first time he actually feels like he’s an important part of something-_

“-Yes. Okay. I’ll let him know. Thanks, Geoff.”

Michael grits his teeth as he hears Ryan, in the next room, hang up his call. He’s standing over the kitchen bench creating a monstrosity. A shot from every different type of alcohol in the cabinet has been poured into one glass. Given that it’s Geoff’s safe house, it’s an extensive collection. He has no idea what this motherfucker’s gonna taste like, but it’s going down his throat some time in the next five minutes, because he needs the drink of all drinks after the turn this day has taken.

“You okay?”

He turns to see Ryan standing in the doorway. He’s taken his mask off and Michael can see the gentle concern in his eyes. 

“Not remotely,” he mutters, and mixes his drink viciously. Ryan comes up beside him and wrinkles his nose.

“Jesus Christ, Michael. What the hell is that?”

“Medicine,” Michael mutters, and knocks back a sip. He nearly chokes, coughing and gagging, his eyes watering in streams that feel like tears. “Fuck, _fuck_ \- that wasn’t fantastic.” 

“Not surprised - it smells like fucking carpet cleaner.”

“Tastes like it, too. Think it needs some lime for nuance of flavour.” Still - the burn down his throat and into his gut feels like fire, feels like some sort of purification. The second sip goes down easier, even with Ryan radiating disapproval from the sidelines. “You tell Geoff the whole drama, then?”

Ryan nods. He starts putting the bottles back in the cupboard - probably, Michael thinks wryly, worried he’ll go for seconds.

“And?”  
  
“And he says, first and foremost, that if you want out of this job you’ve got it. No questions asked.” Ryan reaches for his hand when he goes for the glass again, holding tight until Michael meets his firm gaze.

“Out?” he asks, dumbly. He’s so God damn deep _in_ that it like he’s fallen into a chasm, some dark pit inside him that he thought he’d sealed away. He can’t stop thinking about it - any of it - the blood, the violence, the fire, childhood nightmares all mixed up with those awful pictures Free showed them. At once shockingly new and too familiar. _Out_  - it sounds so fucking easy.

“Out,” Ryan repeats. “You leave the job. Go home - or far away. There’s a gig coming up in Hawai’i, and another down in Singapore. I‘ll stay here, and finish the job. Geoff’ll probably send Jack or Jeremy over to help. If this is too hard, if it’s bringing back too much, then you don’t have to be here. We can take care of it for you.”

Typical Ryan, he sounds so damn earnest. If he wasn’t such a villain like the rest of them, Michael thinks - not for the first time - that he’d make a damn good hero, with that jawline and those Prince-Charming-blue eyes.

_You could go. Leave this all behind. You know none of them would mind._

But he’s shaking his head before his thoughts even really catch up to his body.

“No, I… I couldn’t do that.”

“Michael.” Ryan squeezes his hand. “You don’t _have_ to do this. None of us would think less of you, it wouldn’t make you _weak._ God knows if it… if it was someone from my past, I-”

“No, it’s not that.” He pulls his hand away only to clutch at the edge of the bench, staring into his glass. “I… I need to be here, Ryan. I need to keep an eye on this. It’d fuck me up being far away, not knowing what’s going on. I want to deal with this. I want to _finish_ this. It’s like a fucking splinter - you can’t just leave it to heal. Gotta pull on that shit, even if it hurts.”

“A difficult metaphor to argue with,” Ryan murmurs, and Michael barks out a laugh.

“Yeah, well… I told you before, when Geoff found me I was running alone. Taking freelance hits living day to day off whatever blood money I’d managed to earn. I got there because I’d managed to run away from Kant, run across the whole damn country, used every cent I had just trying to _get away_. I tried everything I could to forget who I used to be, but I couldn’t. Not until Geoff. Not until the Fakes.”

He pauses, swallowing, looking up at Ryan. He’s mentioned his past before, but not in detail - not like _this_. It’s not something he likes to dwell on, and even just talking about it now feels like that chasm inside him is opening wider, sucking his soul back down into its yawning depths. There’s a hot, metallic taste on the back of his tongue.

But Ryan gazes at him - steady, calm, eyes like an open sky. It makes it easier to breathe.

“The crew’s code pulled me out of it,” Michael continues. “Geoff was like no one I’d ever met before. Never thought I’d want to get pulled into another _family_ , not after the last one - but the Fake AH Crew’s different. And running with them - with _you_ … I’m different, too. I’m not that kid anymore. I’m part of something better. Something that doesn’t cut tongues from throats or gouge eyes from skulls. Something… something clean. I know it’s stupid, that we’re _not_ , but-”

“I gotcha,” Ryan whispers, and Michael knows he does. “I gotcha.”

“They’re threatening all that, Ry. Coming here, to AC… they want to take it away, burn it to the ground, fill it with filth like back in Jersey. I won’t let them. I won’t _fucking_ let them. If anyone can stop them, it should be me.” His hand clenches tight around the glass. He wants to throw it, but resists. “Call it what you want - revenge. Redemption. But I can’t just leave. I gotta do this, even if it hurts. Gotta clean up my own mess this time.”  
  
“It’s not your mess,” Ryan says firmly. “And none of this if your fault. You were just a kid. But if you feel you have to be here, it’s your call. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

Michael smiles. He knows he will - knows that if there’s one thing he can count on it’s that he’s not alone this time, and he lets Ryan pull him into a tight hug and kiss the top of his head. Lets himself, for just a moment, allow his anger to melt away a little, and feel something close to safe instead.

Still. When they pull apart, it’s straight back to business.

“What did Geoff say about Free?” he asks.

Ryan bites his lip. Now that’s a far more complicated issue.

“He thinks we should stick with him for now. Not trust him, not by a long shot, but… that shit he showed us makes it pretty fucking unlikely that Gemini’s working with these guys, and we stand a better chance working together than apart. For now,” he adds threateningly, and Michael nods.

“As much as I hate to agree, he seemed pretty fucking upset about that doctor chick.”

“He didn’t seem like he was lying.” Ryan frowns a little. “And he seemed… scared before.”

“Scared,” Michael scoffs - although it’s true. He’d been so fucking furious at Gavin before that he hadn’t thought twice about pushing him around, hadn’t paid attention to much more than the other man’s desperate excuses - but now he thinks about it, Ryan has a point. Gavin had been… blank, as always, but there had been something strained to it something jumpy and nervous, especially once his glasses were off.

There’s something weirdly human about that, something that makes him seem a bit less like just some Gemini drone - but Michael’s still pissed about the fuck-up forcing him to confront Dodger so suddenly like that, so he can’t bring himself to do much more than shrug.

“If he was scared it’s his own fucking fault for nearly getting us both killed.”

“Given his reputation, it just seemed so unlikely that he’d make a mistake like that,” Ryan points out - but Michael can only shrug again.

“I don’t fucking know. Suppose we can give him one more shot, if Geoff wants us to. But we’re not going on any runs without him again.”

“Agreed,” Ryan says, and sighs. “Guess we’ll follow this new lead and see what happens. I’m gonna start looking into Kant’s crew in Jersey, then - see who’s still around, what happened between you leaving and them showing up here.”

“I’ll help in a minute,” Michael says. “Let me just get some air first.”

“Whatever you need.” Ryan squeezes his arm - then takes Michael’s glass and pours the rest of his concoction down the sink. Michael yells, indignantly.

“Hey! That was a work of art!”

“Two sips was more than enough. The fucking smell was giving me a headache. I think _I’m_ drunk just from being in the proximity of that thing.”

“Fucking lightweight,” Michael teases, sticking his tongue out - Ryan rolls his eyes and shoves at him playfully, and for a moment, it’s good to let the darkness slip away, for a moment, he can let himself smile again-

* * *

 

Michael heaves another lot of dried leaves and fallen twigs into the bin and watches sparks fly as the fire flares.

The backyard of this safehouse is surrounded by shrubbery and low trees. Lots of burnables - lots of fuel. He's started a fire in a metal bin and the smoke is rising in a thin, dark plume that's quickly carried away by the wind. The air smells thick and acrid, but the clouds on the horizon promise rain that'll quickly wash it all away-

_(Just wash it all away-)_

He stands close enough that he can feel his hair singe a little, staring into the bright glow of the flames, relishing the heat against his face. Firestarter. He's spent the last six fucking years of his life burying evidence, cleaning up other people's messes like if you can make a crime vanish no one can prove it happened in the first place, like if a tree falls in the forest and no one's around to hear it did it even make a sound-

Like if he never talks about his past maybe none of it fucking happened, except Dodger's back, Dodger like the ghost Michael's always been terrified of seeing, Dodger with his dark eyes and his cheeky smile and the word _brother_ still falling as easily off his lips as it always did and-

_(Oh, God, what if Kant's here too, what’ll you do if you see him again-)_

He grabs another stick off the ground. Shoves it in and watches the fire consume, slowly, withering it all away into nothing but ashes and dust, gets some deep satisfaction from watching it all just disappear. A satisfaction like it can almost fill the hole everything else has left, a fire that feels like his anger, something born since he was young, since he stole his father's lighter and started a dumpster fire, threw all the trash in, and spent hours just watching it burn and burn and burn and burn and-

* * *

 

It's nearly four in the afternoon by the time Gavin opens the door and slips back into the house, but it's already as dark as if night was falling. The storm's come on by now, and it's started to rain - just a drizzle, but Michael knows it'll get heavier later. He doesn't mind, not really. There's something soothing about the constant drumming against the roof of the house.

They're sitting the dining room, working in silence with hot cups of tea beside them, when Gavin slinks into the living room. Michael glances up and catches a glimpse of him sitting on the couch and moving to take his shoes off. He's dripping wet, his hair plastered over his face, sunglasses on as usual, black shirt sticking to his thin frame.

Ryan's stopped his furious typing. He exchanges a glance with Michael before calling out:

"Free! Come here."

Michael sees Gavin stiffen. He rises, slowly, and comes to the doorway - clearly hesitant, wondering what they've decided. There's something odd about his lack of confidence. Michael can only chalk it up to the fact that they own the safe house, that he's technically a guest here. 

"How's it going?" Gavin asks, voice as soft as always.

Ryan slides his gun across the table towards him.

"You can have that back," he says, gruffly. "We've consulted with Ramsey and decided to continue working together - for now. But another fuck up like that one and we won't be so forgiving, you got it?"

"Of course," Gavin murmurs. He takes the gun and puts it away. There's something almost clumsy in his movements, like he's not used to handling a weapon, and Michael frowns a bit. "It won't happen again."

"Make sure of it," Ryan grunts.

Gavin glances at Michael then, who stares back at him grimly. Now that he’s paying more attention - Ryan’s right, Gavin seems nervous. It’s hard to tell, but it’s there - a stiffness in his shoulders, a tightness to the line of his mouth. If he hadn’t been so insistent on staying with them, Michael would’ve assumed he didn’t want to be here.

_Maybe he really does want to catch these guys._

“Go get a fucking towel,” he grunts after a moment. “You’re dripping everywhere. Then we’ll get you up to date on who this crew are.”

“You know them?” Gavin asks, and Michael’s the one who stiffens, now. He doesn’t answer, just turns back to his work, and after a moment Gavin pads back out of the room.

“What the hell was he doing out there?” Michael mutters. “He’s soaking wet.”

“Probably wanted to give us time to cool down.”

“So he wandered around in the rain for an hour? That’s fucking weird.” Michael glowers after him. “Hey, remember that time he tried to blame me for fucking that job up when it was literally his mistake?”

“I mean, yes, that was about three hours ago,” Ryan replies, lips twitching in amusement.

“Asshole.” 

“You don’t have to like him. We just need to work with him, for now, and keep an eye on how Gemini’s dealing with this.”

Michael nods, but he still can’t shake his odd feeling - it’s easy to pretend it’s anger, to cover it with annoyance and shouting and throwing books at people’s heads - but he knows, deep down, it’s _fear_.

It’s been hard enough sharing his past with Ryan. It’s gonna be even harder with the rest of the Fakes if they get pulled into it. But Gavin - a total stranger, and on the enemy’s side no less? He’s the last fucking person Michael wants to feel vulnerable in front of. It feels uncomfortable, nearly humiliating. 

Before long Gavin wanders back into the room. He’s got a hoodie on now, and his hair is sticking up in spikes where he dried it. Without his glasses he looks tired, and he pulls his laptop towards him before glancing at the others expectantly. Michael sighs, and rubs at his eyes, feeling a headache forming. He’s not sure if it’s from the stress or some aftereffect of his drink earlier.

“I know this crew,” he says, shortly. “They’re called the Lost. They come from New Jersey, originally. They were set up by a man called Peter Kant who had aspirations of being a big-name gang leader, as big as the Fakes or Gemini. Except he started out as a thief, and his gang mostly consisted of street kids. He took them in. Trained them to steal. At first it was just about those little profits. Then it became bigger - as we got older, he started getting us to pull heists.”

“We,” Gavin murmurs, and Michael nods.

“Yeah, we,” he mutters. “It progressed from picking pockets to full-on warfare against the other gangs in the area, against the police. And it started to get more violent. Because most of us were so young, Kant decided we needed to send the message that we were just as tough as anyone else out there - that we were to be _feared_. Best way to do that was supposedly mutilating every fucking person we killed along the way.”

“Jesus,” Gavin murmurs. His eyes are downcast, his face pale. Michael can’t tell if his surprise is genuine. Given some of the shit that Gemini does, he can’t think why the other man would care.

“Yeah, pretty fucking similar to the shit your Hart twins pull. Guess they have the same idea since a lot of the assholes around here wouldn’t respect a female-led crew otherwise. Either way, I left them years ago. Had a hell of a time trying to lose them, but I managed to get out. I haven’t seen them since and I hadn’t heard much about them so I figured they never ended up getting really big. I have no clue what they’re doing all the way over here in AC.”

"I see," Gavin says thoughtfully. "And the tank? They wouldn't have had that when you were running with them."

"Course not, dude, it was fucking years ago. Ryan looked into that and it seems like they stole it from a military base near Jersey a couple months ago. Guess they took it here where it'd be less obvious where it came from."'

"Okay," Gavin says. "So we know where they’re from. We should be looking into what they've been doing in recent years, then, and trying to figure out how many of them there are. What sort of firepower they have. What their goals might be over here in Eastside."

"One step ahead of you," Ryan cuts in. "Michael knows who the arms dealers for the crew used to be. We tracked down one of them and it turns out she moved to AC some years ago - specifically, quite close to Eastside. It's likely they're using her to supply themselves since she's one of the few dealers in the area who isn't already tied to either Gemini or the Fakes. We figure we'll stake out her place to see who from the crew comes to meet her, what sort of weapons they're buying, and then hopefully track them back down to another of their bases. In the meantime, Michael will be keeping an eye on that residence. I don't doubt they'll be moving soon now that they know we're aware of where they live. Hopefully we can track them to whatever new hideout they've got."

Gavin nods.

"Sounds like a good plan," he says, quietly. "Give me this arms dealer's address and I'll figure out the best way to keep an eye on her place. Our priority needs to be finding out where this tank is being kept. We're at a disadvantage now that they know we're after them, but knowing so soon who they are and what other resources they might have should give us something of an edge, too."

He pulls his laptop closer and for a little while the room is silent save the clicking of their keys as each of them do their own research. Michael, though he puts on a facade of productivity, finds himself working slowly. He's distracted - every familiar name that pops up, every face, keeps bringing back little rushes of memories that make him pause, squeezing his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Stupid things - like realising one of them is the new kid who joined two weeks before he left. The girl who used to bully him. The older boy who gave him his share of food one time when Michael contracted a high fever and couldn't do much but lie around rather than going out to meet his own quota of earnings. A lot of them are still around - older now, with extensive arrest records and harder eyes, weathered faces, new scars. Still other names have completely disappeared. He's not sure if they ran, like he did, or if worse might have happened to them.

It's funny how it all comes back. He hasn't thought about these people in years - individuals he blocked out of his life, replacing them with new names and faces, a new family. Geoff, and Burnie, and all the rest. 

He was happier forgetting.

It's getting on five o'clock when Ryan pushes his chair back and stretches. Gavin, on the other side of the table, looks up. He's been working silently this whole time, head ducked over his laptop, not looking at them.

"Alright?" Michael murmurs, and Ryan nods.

"Yeah, I'm fine - getting hungry though. I was thinking I might just go buy something from those shops down the road. You want a burger?"

Michael nods. Ryan glances slightly awkwardly at Gavin, who's looking at his laptop screen again. There's a strained silence, then Ryan grabs his jacket and walks out of the room. A few moments later Michael hears the front door open and shut.

He closes his own laptop, reaching to rub at his eyes again. They hurt from so long staring at the screen and he doubts he can be any more productive tonight, but it feels strange just to sit around.

_If Geoff was here he'd tell you to take a break. Have a beer, play a video game, do something to get your mind off this just for a bit. Hell, if I was back at the base it's what I'd be doing._

_Feels weird with Free watching my every move, is all._

"You making any progress?" he grunts finally.

He keeps meaning to ignore Gavin but the silence is always just so uncomfortable that he can't help breaking it. Either that or the sight of the other man's stupid face annoys him so much that he feels the need to jab at him. Gavin glances up again and gives a small nod.

"Yeah. I think we should be fine to stake out the dealer tomorrow. Who's going?"

"You," Michael snaps, "And probably Ryan, while I keep an eye on things back here."

"You don't want to come?"

"Stake outs are more Ryan's thing. My job's pretty detail oriented so I'm the better person to keep an eye on the crew while they move house. I'm not likely to forget anything," he adds, with a very pointed look, and sees Gavin tense a little. Still - he doesn't comment, just keeps typing away while Michael spins aimlessly around on his chair. When he does finally speak, it takes Michael by surprise.

"That man."

"What?"

"The one in the house." Gavin's stopped typing, but he's still staring at his screen. "Who was he? You knew him before?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. He didn't even wanna talk about this with Ryan. The absolute last thing he wants is to have to share even more personal details about his past with Free. But he likes the thought of looking weak even less, so he turns away, staring grimly out the window at the rain lashing the back garden as he replies.

"His name's Benjie, but we all called him Dodger. God, we had some stupid-ass nicknames - that's what you get when a bunch of teenagers come up with their own code-names, I suppose. He was a good friend of mine. Taught me to lift wallets back when I first joined them. We were really close, but we... we had a fight, shortly before I left. I didn't like the shit Kant was making us do as he expanded the crew. Dodger didn't care. It was like the violence didn’t even affect him." He glances over at Gavin and gives a wry smile. “Bit like you Gemini lot, I suppose.”

Gavin’s head ducks lower, but he doesn’t comment. Michael snorts.

“Anyway. It’s pure bad luck he was the one in the house when I ran into him. Anyone else probably wouldn’t even have recognised me.”

"Are there any others?" Gavin asks after a moment. "Who you were friends with. Who we might run into."

Michael bites his lip. _Premeet. Taylor. Nibs. Blue._ Names he hasn't thought of in a long time. Children he once played with, laughed with. Children he watched become soldiers, then monsters in turn. Some almost as bad as Benjie. Some almost as bad as him.

"A few," he answers, carefully. "Still gotta look into exactly who's here in AC. But it was a fucking decade ago, or thereabouts. Wouldn't be surprised if there are a whole lot of new people around."

"And... what was his name again? Kan?"

"Kant." And God, does _that_ name make Michael shudder. Makes him think about cold ice eyes and a hand digging into his shoulder, a whisper that it took a long time to shake from his mind, a shadow that hung over him long after he left. It was hard enough seeing Dodger. He doesn't know what he'll do if he sees Pete. "No sign of him so far. Gonna have to look into it."

Everything he's feeling is right there in the tightness of his voice, and Gavin isn't stupid. Michael knows he doesn't miss it.

"Right," he says, softly, and bites his lip. "Well, when we run into them, will you..."

"Will I what?" Michael snaps, too quickly.

"They're not on our side. Our job is to take them out. Will you be okay?"

Michael stares at him, then sees red. Anger rises in his chest like a fire, spreading tingling to warm his fingers and toes.

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?" he spits. "What the hell are you implying?"

Gavin stiffens again, hands rising.

"Nothing," he begins. "I didn't mean-"

"What, you think I'm gonna compromise the fucking job? You think I'm not gonna be able to do what Geoff is damn counting on me to just because I used to know these assholes?"

"That's not what I meant! I just-"

"You're an asshole, Free. I'm gonna be just fine. It's you we're all worried about - you couldn't pull your fucking weight last time so you'd better not mess up again. Jesus, quit trying to blame _me_ for all this-"

"I wasn't!" Gavin nearly yells, and it's so weird to hear him speaking loudly that Michael actually pauses for a moment. There's a long, lingering, awkward silence before Gavin abruptly shoves his chair back and stands up, snatching up his phone.

"Shit. It's five fifteen. I have to go."

"Where?" Michael demands, and Gavin looks away, fiddling with packing up his laptop and shoving it into his bag.

"Gotta meet Clayton," he mutters, and there's a funny thickness in his voice. "He wants an in-person report. I'll probably be back pretty late."

Michael stares at him. He finishes zipping his bag up and grabs his sunglasses up from the table - then pauses for a moment, turning them over in his hands, jaw clenched.

"You're gonna be late if you just stand around," Michael blurts out after a moment, and Gavin’s shoulders tighten. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’d be a bloody tragedy.”

Michael tilts his head, quizzically. Gavin stares at his hands for a moment later before taking a deep, resigned breath. He puts his sunglasses on and the mere motion seems to pull his shoulders straighter, like a puppet. He flips his hood up and walks out of the room without looking back. Michael hears the door shut, but no roar of an engine afterwards. Still - Gavin’s gone. In the dark and the rain it’s gonna be a rough trip on a bike. 

_That was fucking weird_. There had been something strange about Gavin’s hesitation - but Michael shakes his head. With the house to himself he feels something ease in him, a tension falling from his shoulders now that he doesn’t have to keep up appearances anymore, and waits for Ryan to return.

* * *

That night, Michael takes a very long shower.

He turns the water as hot as he can get it without scalding himself and stands under the burning stream as though if he waits long enough the heat will seep into his bones and he might finally feel warm again. If he closes his eyes he can picture himself in the middle of a blazing fire, watching everything around him burn away. Everything inside him. Some sort of purgatory.

It's late at night and the storm's only gotten worse. Even when he steps out of the shower with his skin blazing red and tingling, he can hear the drumming of the rain on the roof as though he never left.

_It was raining the night you ran. Don't you remember? Under cover of darkness, under a storm, you finally slipped away. You thought they might assume you crashed your bike and died somewhere out in the streets. Isn't that what you told Dodge? I'm going for a ride. Back soon._

Another crash of thunder rings out and he stares in the mirror, clutching at his towel. He looks like shit, his curls hanging limp and wet and sending dripping streams down his skin. No amount of showering or sleeping or drinking will fix any of it.

_Ryan's out there, waiting. They all are. You said you'd be okay._

He can say it as much as he wants. Doesn't change the fact he wants to punch the mirror and feel broken glass against his skin, smear blood like paint over the glass until his face is covered in nothing but red, until he doesn't have to look into his own eyes anymore and know what he used to be. Same body that ran away. Same body that killed. 

The rain's so loud that as he's headed out into the corridor to check the back door’s locked, he almost doesn’t hear Gavin coming back in. When he turns and sees him standing in the corridor, he gets the fright of his life. Dressed all in black, with his hood up and dripping wet, for a moment he looks like some sort of ghost from a horror movie.

It’s past one in the morning by now. Their meeting certainly look a long fucking time. 

Gavin hasn’t seen him yet. As Michael watches, he slowly reaches up and pushes his hood back, then takes off his glasses and hooks them in the neck of his shirt. He leans against the wall, and covers his face with his hands for a long moment.

_Guess it didn’t go well_ , Michael thinks. Hunched over like that, Gavin looks like some sort of painting of a man in mourning, and it makes something uncomfortable build in Michael’s stomach as he stares at him. The silence stretches on, and when Gavin drops his hands and looks up to see him, he jumps so hard that Michael’s surprised his feet don’t leave the ground. Their eyes meet - Gavin’s are red-rimmed and upset.

But Michael doesn’t have the mental energy to deal with him right now. He doesn’t move, just stares. After a moment, Gavin trudges into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, and Michael swallows and heads back to bed.

Ryan’s already lying there in the dark. He crashed hard earlier, exhausted after everything that’s happened - but when Michael clambers into bed, the other man shifts and stirs. One heavy arm drops over Michael’s waist and drags him closer, and soon Ryan’s wrapped around him, a steady warmth against his back, his chin tucked over his shoulder. He feels protected - _safe_ \- and it’s nice.

But he’s still _angry_ , and nothing can help with that, and even when he closes his eyes and tries to get his mind to shut down, it still feels like there’s a fire blazing in the bottom of his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Homophobic language, one blithe reference to suicide.

**vi. dead or alive**

_The worst dreams are the ones where Ryan can move._

_There are others, where he's frozen on the spot just like he was in real life, where no matter how much he struggles, he can't get up, can't jump in front of the gun, can't stop the shot being fired._

_But sometimes - sometimes he'll be able to tear away the ropes binding his arms and shake off the man holding him on his knees. Sometimes he springs forward and tackles her out of the way only to realise_ bang, bang _, he was too late and the gun already went off. Or she'll strike her head on the ground and bleed out anyway, in front of him._

_Or he'll be able to move - just slowly, like he's wading through treacle, like he's carrying an anchor on his back. He'll wake in a sweat like he's just run a marathon with the heavy, heavy knowledge that you can't save her, no matter what you do you can't save her, can't save her, can't save her-_  

"Why's it so hot in here?" Ryan grumbles.

It's seven in the morning but still so fucking dark outside that it seems like the middle of the night. He was cold when he got out of bed, but entering the living room is like stepping into a fucking sauna. He's sweating almost instantly. 

Gavin's sitting with his laptop open in front of him - his head resting in one hand, staring vacantly ahead, a steaming cup of tea next to him. There are dark shadows under his eyes, and Ryan wonders how long he's been up. Michael mentioned him coming in pretty late last night.

"Sorry," Gavin murmurs, looking a bit flustered. "I got up early and I was cold."

"Can we turn it down a bit? There's warm and there's the fucking Sahara desert."

"I put a bowl of water out," Gavin says, but is already fumbling for the air con remote. Ryan turns to switch on the kettle and reaches up, rubbing his eyes. He didn't sleep well again last night. Oh, he was _asleep_ , got more hours than usual - but it wasn't good sleep, woke him up feeling stressed and headachy. But there's nothing new about that, and he's used to just pushing past and getting on with things.

He makes himself a bowl of cereal and sits opposite Gavin, who's closed his laptop and is now sitting with his shoulders hunched and hands wrapped around his mug. There is a very awkward silence. Usually Ryan would be content to leave things like that, but he can't stop thinking about the other night - when he got up and went out to the other room and spoke to Gavin in the dead of night.

It feels a bit like a dream. In the morning he couldn't quite remember if it'd actually happened or it was just some hallucination, some product of his overworked mind. But Gavin - Gavin had clearly remembered it. Ryan had seen him looking at him the next day, something shy and uncertain in it.

_He offered to make you warm milk_ , he thinks. Something about that strikes an odd chord deep in his gut. He can think of absolutely no motivation for it, and it unsettles him.

_Probably wanted to poison, maybe drug you. Try get some secrets out of you._

_But he seemed genuine, and you trust your instincts. You're usually right about shit like that._

_Usually? Not when you haven't slept for twenty four hours, not when it's two in the fucking morning. Besides, the very next day he nearly got you and Michael killed, didn't he? You can't trust him._

He shakes himself, to watch Gavin sip slowly from his mug.

"Ready for the stake out today?" Ryan asks gruffly.

Gavin jumps a little before glancing up at him. After a moment he nods.

"Yeah... yeah."

He's so fucking quiet again - it's a far cry from that stupid mug ramble he went on, and Ryan presses harder.

"How'd your meeting with Clayton go yesterday, then? Heard you got back pretty late. Anything new for us on his end?"

He expected that would at least give them something to talk about - but to his surprise it seems to make Gavin shutter off, his face darkening for a moment before going oddly blank. 

"He's not working on anything, remember? He just wanted me to report back to him about what happened here," he says, flatly.

"Yeah? You tell him all about how Michael knows these guys?"

"Of course. It's pertinent information. I didn't tell him the gory details," he adds, almost defensively. "Just that we know who they are, that Michael worked with them in the past, and that his information will probably make this go a lot damn faster. Just now I've sent him the stuff Michael finished last night, figuring out which of them might still be alive out there, so he'll be up to date on that. He'll probably want to talk to all of us at some point."

"Joy of joys," Ryan mutters, rolling his eyes - he thinks he sees Gavin's lips twitch, but when he looks back his face is blank again. _Odd._

He wonders what Clayton thought of the screw-up, if it wasn't deliberate. But Gavin's already rising abruptly, and chugging the rest of his mug before putting it in the sink.

"I'm gonna go wash up before we leave. You wanted to go at seven thirty, yeah?"

Ryan nods, and Gavin scuttles out of the room. Ryan turns back to his breakfast - a moment later Michael enters, yawning.

"Good morning," Ryan says, raising his eyebrows as Michael wanders past him towards the toaster. "How're you doing?"

"M'okay," Michael mumbles, but Ryan frowns. He hasn't failed to notice how worked up the other man was last night. Oh, he did a good job hiding it - but he was clearly simmering with pent-up anger and probably a bunch of other shit he was bottling up. Ryan doesn't like it - but here and now, in the middle of a job, is not the time to let it all out. All he can do is keep a close eye on him. "Ready to start work and get all this over with."

"The stake-out today should make us some good progress."

"I'll keep an eye on the house. Where's Free, aren't you guys leaving in a second?"

"He went to the bathroom." Ryan gestures at Gavin's stuff, still on the table, and freezes. Gavin's backpack is sitting there too, and presumably all his other shit. He glances over his shoulder at the doorway - no sign of him - then back at Michael, who's looking at him with raised eyebrows, clearly thinking the same thing.

_It's the prime opportunity to look through his shit - especially since we know he just had a meeting with Clayton._

He rises and strides to the other end of the table, tugging Gavin's bag towards him and rummaging through it for his phone. God - the main compartment of the bag is a fucking mess, filled with scraps of paper and notebooks, charging cords, and a bunch of clothes - a black balaclava, several mismatched pairs of gloves, a set of thin rubber shoes wrapped in a plastic bag. A rope ladder is tangled around most items. 

"Other compartment, other compartment," Michael hisses. "What sort of maniac would keep their phone in the big one?"

"The sort who's disorganised enough to have a bag like this. His USB's here," Ryan says, as his hand closes around smooth plastic - only to curse as he realises his computer's back in his bedroom, so he won’t be able to get much from it. "It's probably in his pocket, it might not even be here-"

"What are you doing?"

Both of them jump as Gavin's voice rings out from the doorway. They hadn't even heard him approach, and Ryan whirls around to see him lingering, his eyebrows raised and sunglasses hooked in the front of his shirt. His hair looks neater now, slicked back with water, and he's shaved - but he still looks exhausted, and nothing can cover his sunken eyes and dull skin.

Ryan braces himself for anger, or shock, or thrown accusations - but Gavin just continues to stare blankly at the two of them.

"Checking if you brought any ammo," Michael lies immediately - and rather well, Ryan thinks - but Gavin does not seem convinced.

"If you're looking for my phone, I keep it on me, and I wouldn't recommend trying to pickpocket a thief. And it's password locked, by the way, so unless you can somehow guess a totally random combination of four numbers, good luck."

He wanders back to the table and pulls his bag towards him while Michael and Ryan step back, both tense and looking at one another questioningly.

Gavin checks through it, apparently trying to see if they took anything - but when he looks up again, he still doesn't seem annoyed. Ryan doesn't like that. It leaves him unsure what Gavin's thinking.

"What?" Gavin asks, as they both stare at him.

"Figured you'd be pissed," Michael snaps, arms folded, "Demand to see our stuff in return. Seems like the sort of thing you'd do."

Gavin frowns, but when he speaks it's as soft as ever.

"Why would you say that when we barely know each other?" he points out, and shrugs. "Figured you'd try this at some point. Like you said - we don't trust each other. Rummage in there all you want, but you won't find anything except a lot of old used tissues."

"Fucking gross," Michael says, turning away to get his toast ready, but Ryan stares at Gavin a moment longer. Something in the way he said it makes him wonder if the other man has already somehow nicked their stuff, if he came and rummaged in their belongings while they were asleep. If he's as good a thief as they all say, if he can move as silently as he did just then, if every single night he's apparently been awake and out here instead of in his room...

_You've slipped up,_ he thinks, and resolves to find out what exactly Gavin's been getting up to when they should all have been sleeping.

Gavin zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

"Ready to go?" he asks, and Ryan nods.

"One moment, I want to make a sandwich. Get food - we don't know how long this will take and we're not about to stop for lunch. Last thing we need is someone collapsing from low blood sugar on the job." 

"Are you gonna cut it into little triangles like a kindergarten student?" Michael teases, from where he is slathering his own breakfast in peanut butter.

"Look, there is a scientific reason for that! It's easier to eat with the mask on!"

"Gonna cut off the crust as well?" Michael laughs, and Ryan reaches out and messes his hair as he goes to take the bread.

Gavin's staring between the two of them. He goes to his own plastic bag of personal groceries - and Jesus, Michael wasn't kidding, there is something very strange about the way he just leaves it hanging on the cupboard door - and grabs another of his noodle packets, shoving it in his bag. Ryan raises his eyebrows.

"How are you gonna eat that? You can't cook it in the car."

"Eat it dry, won't I?"

"How the fuck does that work? What do you do, snort the flavour packet?" Ryan demands.

Michael snickers, and Gavin rolls his eyes. For a second, a hint of something like a smile crosses his face, and Ryan realises too late that it came out less like a sneer. More like teasing. More like he'd speak to Jack, or Jeremy, or hell, even Michael.

" _No,_ Ryan! You crunch up the noodles, right, then you put the flavour powder in and shake it all up and the powder goes over the noodles like seasoning. Didn't you ever do that as a kid?"

"I can't say I did," Ryan says, drily. Gavin looks aghast.

"But it's what kids eat after school and all! Everyone used to do it. It's like a snack."

"Maybe in London," Michael says, and Gavin looks over at him.

"I'm not from London," he replies. "And you have these noodles here, too. Surely you did, Michael, when you went to school? Didn't you ever see kids eating these?"

Michael's face clouds over, and Ryan winces.

"Didn't go to school," he grumbles.

“What?” Gavin blurts out. “Like ever at all?”

“ _No_ , asshole,” Michael snaps, and Ryan sees Gavin blanch. It surprises him. Why should he care about pissing Michael off, even inadvertently? His shoulders tense - but Michael just grabs his plate and moves to sit at the table, not saying anything further. Ryan can see how confused Gavin is, but after a moment he just quietly puts his lunch in his bag and heads for the door. Ryan glances after him and turns back to Michael as soon as he's out of the room.

"You okay?"

"Course. One stupid fucking question isn't gonna give me a damn flashback."

Ryan raises his eyebrows, but Michael forces out a laugh.

"I'm fine, Ryan, really. He's just an idiot. Have fun sitting in a car with that for like ten hours."

"It won't take that long. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"Are you fucking kidding? I'd kill Free or myself within ten minutes."

"I don't like the thought of you sitting alone here watching these guys you used to know for hours," Ryan points out - but Michael's cheeks turn red, and not in a good way.

"I'm not some porcelain doll who's gonna shatter the second you turn your back," he snaps. "I'm fine, Ryan. I'm not compromised. This job will be tough but I'm perfectly capable of doing it. I'll text you every hour if that'll make you feel better."

"You text me every hour anyway," Ryan teases, and is glad when Michael relaxes a little.

"Look, if there's one great idea to take away from How I Met Your Mother it's that thing where they send each other a letter in the shape of the turd they just dropped. You think my hourly texts are bad, just be glad you're not in the group-shit-chat with Geoff!"

Ryan laughs, and leans in to kiss the top of Michael's head. The other man grabs the front of his shirt and tugs him down to meet his lips instead. Michael's warm, and for a moment Ryan wants to pull him close, to wrap his arms around him and let it seep into his own cold bones. The numbness is starting to return and he doesn't want them to be apart, not when - despite anything Michael claims - he knows they're both so fragile at the moment.

But they don’t have much of a choice, not when this job is so important, so he forces himself to let Michael go, and head out to meet Gavin instead.

* * *

 

The drive out towards the armourer's shop is quite a way, and for the first twenty minutes Ryan and Gavin sit in silence. It wouldn't be so bad if Gavin wasn't so God damn fidgety - constantly pulling at the edges of his sleeves, and twisting to look through the window at the cars behind them.

"Do you think we're being followed?" Ryan asks finally, and Gavin turns to him with wide eyes. His sunglasses are shoved up in his hair, and Ryan wonders why he hasn't got them on. He's got his mask on, after all.

"What? No. Do you?"

"No. Then sit fucking still, won't you?"

Gavin bites his lip, and seems to make a conscious effort to settle down, pressing himself back into the seat like he's trying to phase through it. Ryan sighs as they pull up in yet another long line of cars stopped at the lights. It's peak hour for people going to work.

"So where are you from, if not London?" he asks, gruffly.

He's not usually one for small talk, but Michael's right - the silence does get grating, and it feels strange living with Gavin without knowing the first thing about him. And Gavin was right, before - if they don't know him, how could they possibly tell what he might be planning to do? Keep your enemies closer and all that.

Gavin eyes him very suspiciously, and Ryan knows with the mask on he'll find it impossible to get whatever answers he might be searching for. But finally, he sighs.

"Oxfordshire. Out in the country, actually."

"Oxford like the university?"

"Same area, yeah. Not like I bloody went there, though - that'd be a laugh." He snorts a bit, glancing away. "Didn't go to uni."

"So why'd you leave England, then? And when?"

"What do you care?" Gavin asks, and for a moment Ryan's a little stumped.

"I..." he begins, only to be distracted by the lights changing. As he starts to drive again he sees Gavin, in the corner of his eye, start to fidget again - only to clench his fists and force his hands back into his lap. After a moment Ryan looks back over at him.

"Just making conversation. Not trying to be friends, but we're fucking living together. Might as well know who it is we're hanging around with all day and night. But sure, if you think I'm trying to get something from you. Dunno what you think I'd use that information for."

Gavin's eyes narrow - but whatever he heard in Ryan's voice, if not his face, seems to have convinced him.

"I actually only moved to America about a year ago," he murmurs.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah? Why?"

Ryan glances at him again, honestly quite shocked. For some reason he'd just... assumed Gavin had been here longer, even if it was outside of Achievement City. He hadn't expected Gemini to import someone all the way from England, no matter how good a thief they might be. And considering Gavin had started appearing in Gemini’s work a year ago, they _must_ have been the reason he came over.

“Just thought you’d been here longer, that’s all. So you’ve never seen anywhere other than AC?”

Gavin shakes his head. 

“No. Wish I could.” He looks down, picks at his sleeves again. Remembers. Stops.

_What does that mean? You should be fucking rich enough to take a holiday after all the successful heists you pulled_. But something in Gavin’s voice is strange, puzzles him-

And only makes him want to find out more. Before this was smalltalk, now it seems like some odd mystery to figure out, because he trusts his gut and something just feels _off_ here.

“Where would you want to visit? Austin’s not too far from here. Good barbeque there, if you’re into that.” _That_ apparently being eating in general, if Gavin’s mealtime habits so far are anything to go by. _Oh my God, maybe he_ is _vegan and doesn’t want to tell us. Maybe that’s why he didn’t eat at the meeting. Would make more sense than Michael’s theory that he left the house the other day to photosynthesise_.

Gavin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ve not had barbeque in ages. I don’t know much about Austin - sounds fun though. I want to see New York-”

“New York’s filthy. New York’s scum. Don’t go there.”

“But it’s iconic and all! And I want to go to Hollywood-”

“Also trash. It’s literally filthy. Just garbage all over the streets. And the Walk of Fame is overrated.”

“And Vegas. All the tourist places. But I don’t think I’ll have the chance for a… a while.” 

Ryan raises an eyebrow. Gavin’s not even looking at him, just staring straight ahead out the windscreen as he speaks.

“Gemini working you too hard?” he asks, and sees one side of Gavin’s mouth twist.

“I guess you could say that,” he replies, and looks down at his lap again. 

There’s a long, quiet pause. It’s spitting outside, drops spattering occasionally against the windscreen. Not quite enough to be a problem, yet, but it just adds to the miserable day, and Ryan feels heavy and lethargic in the grey silence. 

"I left England because I hated it," Gavin blurts out suddenly.

He's always so quiet that Ryan's quite startled he's taking the initiative to speak. He glances over, and finds Gavin still staring down at his clenched fists.

"Yeah?" he prompts, and Gavin's head ducks further.

"We were talking about school before, right? I didn't mean to piss off Michael, he just surprised me. But I hated school, actually. I was a boarder, so there was no escaping the damn place."

"Boarder as in boarding school?" Ryan asks, and Gavin nods, scoffing a little.

"Yeah. I know, it sounds stupidly English, but that's where you wind up sometimes. Could've been fun, I suppose, but the other boys were assholes. They... they didn't really like people like me." 

"Like you?" Ryan questions, but Gavin doesn't answer, just rests his head against the window and takes a deep breath.

"Let's just say I didn't exactly fit in. I've wanted to leave England since I was twelve years old. Used to daydream about all the different places I might go. Ended up picking America."

_You picked a hell of a lot more than just America_ , Ryan can't help thinking. For a moment, Gavin's story had made him picture the other man as a gawkish school kid with messy hair who could barely tie a tie, a gangly little thing running from a pack of mocking grammar school bullies. But a second later he has to kick himself and remember - this man works for Gemini. This man is responsible for the horrors they see on the news, for the fear that plagues the East end of the city, for what hangs over the place like sewage, sickening and corrupt. 

"I see," he manages, and Gavin bites his lip.

"You didn't start here either," he murmurs. "You don't have the same accent as - as Ramsey and all the others what were raised here."

A chill runs down Ryan's spine. He can't help it - he thinks of before, and Georgia, and what used to be home, and _who_ used to be home, and-

"No," he says, sharply, and tugs at his mask, adjusting it and shutting himself off with it. "I didn't."

Gavin looks away again, and they drive in silence for the rest of the trip.

* * *

 

The arms dealer operates out of a small shop in the western suburbs. It's down a narrow, cramped street surrounded by other various shops of questionable legitimacy; a very dodgy butcher is to one side of it, the doorway veiled with thick, grubby sheets of plastic, while a tobacco shop sits to its other side, the rest of the street taken up with various small antique dealers, pawnshops, and a laundrette that Ryan is quite sure does a very different type of laundering than advertised.

The problem is, the entire street is covered with parked cars, and there's nowhere to stop.

Gavin has apparently already thought of this.

"There's a courtyard on the roof of this building where we should have a vantage point to look at the shop," he says, pulling up a map on his tablet and turning to to show Ryan. Sure enough, there's an old cafe across the road from the arms dealer that seems to have gone bust. The courtyard is walled in, but it won't be a problem to see the dealer from there. The only problem would be getting up and down quickly, but that's something they can deal with.

"I'll park behind that block, then. Let's just hope we don't have to give chase."

"That'd be hell in this traffic."

"Should've come on your bike instead," Ryan says, and Gavin gives him a very strange look for reasons unknown. Still - he brushes it off and they drive around the back of the cafe. It's quiet and empty as they get out of the car, but the cold air hits Ryan like a slap, even with his mask on. His eyes feel dry immediately, and even his thick leather jacket doesn't do much to help. He grits his teeth, grabbing his rifle from the boot before moving deftly up the fire escape. It only stretches halfway up the building, then a ladder leads up to the roof - the only way to access it from outside.

He feels like he's on an assassination job rather than a stake out as he hauls himself to the top, trying to move as silently as possible with his rifle heavy on his back, ignoring the rain still spitting down onto them. The rungs are slippery, but his gloves have good grip, and before long he's pulling himself onto the roof.

The courtyard was probably once beautiful, low walls surrounding a paved, flat area with picnic tables scattered about. But now the stones are overgrown with weeds and lichen, and the faint smell of rotting wood hangs in the air. The pavement is covered in heaped bird droppings and the plastic canopy that stretches over most of the roof is tattered, flapping in the wind and making a shadow dance across the ground that keeps irritating Ryan in the corner of his eye. There's something eerie to being up here, high above the rest of the street, and he turns to check Gavin's following.

The other man lingered back, probably in case Ryan slipped on the ladder and fell on him - now, he pulls himself up with a nimble ease that Ryan can't help but admire. Even without gloves he doesn't so much as falter as he deftly hauls himself onto the roof, rising easily and looking around.

"There," he says, pointing. There's a gap in the wall that looks out onto the arms dealer, and they head over.

The shop advertises itself as selling home repair tools, but it's clearly a front. Right now the sign reads closed, but there are lights on in the rooms upstairs, and Ryan expects after what happened yesterday that the crew will be stocking up on ammo, preparing themselves in case the Fakes and Gemini came after them.

All they have to do now is wait.

He crouches by the wall and places his rifle next to him. Gavin inches away from it and Ryan shoots him an odd look, but the other man just sits down, knees pulled up, where he can see through the gap in the wall. The torn canopy doesn’t help much against the rain.

“What time is it?” he whispers, and Ryan glances at his watch.

“Just past eight thirty. We might have a while to wait.”

“Or they might come early.” Gavin rummages in his backpack and pulls out a pair of binoculars, passing them to Ryan. He takes them, questioningly, and looks at the shop. When Gavin’s hand suddenly rests on his wrist, he jumps a little - but Gavin doesn’t even grip his arm, just gently nudges it until Ryan’s looking up at the top storey. There are curtains over the windows, flimsy white things behind which he can only see the vague shadows of shapes. He thinks he catches a silhouette walking by, but isn’t certain.

“There’s a window in the bathroom on that floor,” Gavin murmurs, “That I think I can climb up to. While she’s occupied with the deal downstairs, I thought I might break in and look at her records. See exactly what she’s supplied them with so far. In the meantime, you should put a tracking device on their cars so we can follow them back to their base.”

“Alright,” Ryan says - at least Gavin’s sticking to his word of being the one to go in this time. He lowers the binoculars and finds Gavin standing close to him; the other man turns away quickly, and they settle down to wait. Ryan pulls his knife and sharpening block out - might as well be productive - the air soon rings out with the _sching, sching, sching_ of each swipe.

Gavin’s looking at him from the corner of his eye, shoulders tense. He’s shivering, and Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“Should’ve brought a coat,” he comments drily, and Gavin shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, pulling it tighter around him.

“I don’t like winter,” he mumbles.

“Figured you’d be used to the rain, given where you’re from.”

Gavin actually smiles a little at that - so briefly that Ryan nearly misses it - but it’s so unexpected that it makes Ryan realise abruptly just how rarely he sees one on the other man’s face. He can’t help the way something in him nearly softens - for all his Vagabond persona, for all his reputation, the others know well that it’s all mostly an act - and digs in his own pockets for a spare pair of gloves, thicker and warmer than the ones he saw in Gavin’s bag earlier, before tossing them at him.

Gavin flinches when they land in his lap, hands rising like he thought Ryan was throwing something else at him - then he looks at Ryan in confusion. 

“I always bring spares,” Ryan grunts. “They’re not touchscreen though.”

Gavin doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Thanks,” he whispers finally, and Ryan flaps a hand. There’s a long pause, but then - fucking _great_ \- Gavin seems to take this gesture as an invitation to start a conversation again.  

“Hey, can I ask you something? It’s not about the job, though.”

“You can ask, I won’t necessarily answer.”

“You and Michael… you’re together, yeah?”

Ryan turns towards him, and the sight of the skull mask staring blankly at him makes Gavin lick his lips nervously.

“Right. Obviously,” he continues. “Just curious how long that’s been happening. We didn’t know about it - Gemini, that is - I mean, we watch your crew as much as you watch ours but we… we didn’t know that.” 

“What, you run off and tell Clayton about it as soon as you could?” Ryan snaps - oh _boy_ does he regret his kindness now. There’s something _afraid_ stirring in him, because if Gemini knows, if they _care_ , if they think this is a _weakness_ , that Michael’s some way to get to him- 

( _Not again, it can’t happen again, you can’t let it. Not with him-)_  

“No!” Gavin says quickly - he must sense the danger, the sudden shift in Ryan’s mood. “No, I didn’t bloody tell him. That’s your personal business, innit.”

“Yeah, it’s my personal business until it becomes intel your lot think you could use-”

“I wouldn’t!” Gavin cries. Then, defensively, “But hell - that’s a risk you decided to take when you… when you got together, when you decided to _show_ me-”

“Is that a threat?” Ryan demands, his blood running cold. He rises and moves towards Gavin, who leaps to his feet and steps back out of reach.

“No,” he snaps, “Of course not! That’s just how our bloody world _is_. You take care of yourself here. You do what you need to, to survive. Every choice you make affects what people can do to you.” A bitter laugh. “So if you make the wrong choice, good fucking luck. You’re screwed.”

“Maybe on your side of the God damn city,” Ryan breathes. “Maybe back when I was alone, working freelance jobs for I didn’t care who. But not with the Fakes. Not under Geoff. We don’t work like that - but I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“So I’ve heard,” Gavin replies tightly, “But I find it hard to believe. Someone as powerful as Ramsey, someone who’s spent so long building up a name for himself… you really think he cares about every single person in his crew?”

His soft voice, those expressionless shades, all infuriate Ryan until he can barely think straight.

“You don’t know _shit_ about Geoff,” he growls, “So shut the fuck up. God, you know what, Free, for a second sometimes I think you’re a human being. Then you go and say shit like that! You’re just like all the rest of them-”

“Maybe _you’re_ the one who doesn’t know shit about _me_ ,” Gavin shouts back, only to gasp when Ryan steps towards him and grabs the front of his shirt, leaning in so close the front of his mask nearly bumps Gavin’s nose, the knife still gripped tightly in his other hand.

“Well let me make one thing perfectly clear,” he snarls. “My _choice_ here is to protect Michael. First and foremost, that’s my number one fucking priority on this job. If the three of us get into trouble, I couldn’t care less what happens to you. He’s the one I’ll save. If I find out you’re working against us, that you’ve put him in danger? Even Gemini won’t be able to protect you, and you’ll wish _you’d_ never made the damn choice to work with them. And if you even _think_ about trying to hurt Michael to get to me, I will burn you alive. Do you understand?”

He’s yanked Gavin up so hard he’s nearly on his toes. The other man’s jaw is clenched tight, his face pale. After a moment he gives a jerking nod. When Ryan lets him go he stumbles back and immediately turns, grabbing his bag and moving to the other side of the roof. Ryan leaves him. He’s shaking with anger now - with something too close to fear - and forces himself to stop, and close his eyes, and take a deep breath. His heart is pounding, so hard he feels sick.

_Stop. Just slow down. It’s fine, he’s fine, nothing’s happened. Nothing’s going to happen._ But he can’t stop shaking, and he turns away too, pulling out his phone. Needs to text Michael. Needs to just make _sure_.

* * *

 

They’re up there for two hours in the cold when the car finally comes.

It’s raining heavily, now, and they’ve both been forced back to where the canopy’s still intact. Gavin’s steadfastly ignoring him, his binoculars fixed to his face, staring at the shop. Ryan ignores him right back, sharpening his knife again until its point is razor sharp, could slit a throat in a second.

“They’re here.”

When Gavin speaks, it startles him out of the daze he’d fallen into. He rises, sheathing his knife in one fluid motion as he follows Gavin to the other side of the roof, crouching to look over the wall. Gavin passes him the binoculars.

There’s a red car approaching the dealership. As he watches, it slows out front, and two people leap out. They’re bundled up in anoraks and parkas, hoods up against the cold and rain, and Ryan can’t make out their features. But in the driver’s seat of the car he recognises the man from the house - _Dodger, wasn’t it -_ and as the others enter the building, he continues on around the block.

“He’s not stopping,” he begins, but Gavin shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine - there’s a car park around the back of the building. He’s probably stopping there since there’s nowhere in the street. Come on,” he adds, shouldering his bag and jerking his head towards the ladder. “That’s where we’ll follow. We don’t know how long they’re stopping, so we need to move fast.”

Ryan nods, already snapping into the focused, intent zone he always finds himself in on a job. He follows Gavin down the ladder and onto the street, keeping his head down as they head quickly along the block and around to the back of the building. 

The parking lot is surrounded by a high fence, and the gate’s already closed behind Dodger’s car. It’s apparently no matter for Gavin, who pulls out a set of lockpicks, peels his gloves off and sets to work. Ryan’s barely even registered the problem than he’s gotten the gate open and is pushing it - carefully, testing for squeaks and creaks - with such efficiency that suddenly Ryan has no doubt that he’s the best thief in the city.

“You alright to set the tracker?” he murmurs, and Ryan nods.

“Alright. I’ll head in, then.”

Before he can say another word Gavin’s sizing up the building ahead of them. The window he mentioned is high off the ground, on the building’s second storey, and the only way up seems to be a gutter pipe leading to the roof. But as he watches, Gavin rubs his hands together, takes a deep breath, and then runs at the wall.

Except Jeremy and his weird gymnastics, none of the Fakes are overly agile; smarts and strength are their preferred method. For a moment, Ryan can only stop and stare as Gavin propels himself a few steps up the wall before grabbing the pipe and hauling himself up like a monkey, pausing occasionally to get footholds against the brick. Everything’s slick with rain and Ryan’s nearly holding his breath, expecting him to slip - it’s like watching a fucking video game character scale a wall, the way he seeks out handholds where Ryan wouldn’t expect any and manages to swing himself across to the windowsill, somehow pushing it open as he hangs before wriggling in like an eel and vanishing into the building.

_Holy shit._

No matter how much he dislikes Free, that’s fucking _impressive_. God, it was no wonder he said he could’ve pulled off the house job. If he could get in there, he could get into anything.

He shakes himself, and turns to plant a bug on the car. It’s difficult - the thing’s so damn low to the ground, and the cement of the car park is uneven, so it takes him a while to wriggle himself under there, and then the damn thing isn’t working when he tests it so he has to troubleshoot. He’s only just managed to get it all set up when he pulls himself out - hot and exhausted from lying under the cramped space - only to hear someone hiss his name.

“Ryan! Ryan!”

He looks up. Gavin’s at the window again.

“You done?” Ryan calls up, but Gavin presses a finger to his lips. He’s waving frantically and Ryan only just realises he’s pointing to the gate when suddenly, the back door opens and the crew starts to emerge.

_Shit!_ He has no time to get out - all he can do is duck behind the car, drawing his gun.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” The arms dealer is with them - Ryan recognises her from the pictures Michael showed him. There are two others with Dodger, a large, mean-faced woman who looks like she’d give even Ryan a run for his money in an arm-wrestle, and a smaller fellow with bleached-blond hair that looks very strange against his olive skin. 

It’s weird to look at them all - weird to think that these are the people Michael grew up with, who knew him back when he was just a boy, that if he was here he’d probably recognise their faces, know their names, have shared memories and recollections, fond or otherwise, of them.

Gavin’s disappeared from the window, and Ryan curses. There’s no way he’s getting out of this without revealing himself. And if he kills them all, they’ll have lost their main lead to find the other bases.

“Yeah, we need the next delivery within the week,” Dodger replies. “Pleasure doing business, as always.”

“It was good to see you again.”

They’re heading around this side of the car now, and Ryan takes his chance. With a roar, he lunges at the first person to step towards where he’s hiding - it’s the unfortunate blond man - and gets a shot off. The crack of the gunshot makes all of them jump; he crumples to the floor and the others swing their guns towards him immediately, opening fire.

“It’s the Vagabond!” he hears the woman yell, but he’s already diving behind the other vehicle in the lot; a large van. He’s not quite fast enough, and feels a bullet nick his arm, tearing through the leather of his sleeve. It burns, but he ignores it, breathing heavily as he presses back against the van.

“Shit, shit - he’s dead,” he hears the woman say. “He killed Axel!”

“Fuck,” Dodger hisses, then calls out, louder, “You here too, then, Mikey? Come to finish what you couldn’t last time?”

Ryan grits his teeth. He inches along the side of the van and looks in its side-view mirror. He can see them approaching it, guns raised - the arms dealer cowering back, her own weapon drawn but unwilling to use it. Dodger’s eyes are narrowed, and there’s something very dangerous in his face. It’s a killer’s look, one Ryan remembers he used to see on himself every morning. One he used to see on Michael.

“You’re outnumbered, Vagabond,” he calls out. “Why don’t you come out and we can have a nice chat? It seems like we have some mutual friends.”

Ryan takes a deep breath. 

_Three men._ He’s killed more than that before, and easily, too. But there guys are dangerous, and he remembers how scared Michael was. Remembers how much of a threat they’ve been so far.

He’s bracing himself to make a final stand of it when suddenly another shot rings out on the other side of the van. He hears a scream of pain, then-

“Shit! Shit! Someone’s in the fucking window!” the woman cries. “Dodge - I’m hit!”

“Fuck me,” Dodger snaps. “How fucking many of them are here - get in the car! Get in, let’s get the fuck out of here. The whole damn Fake AH Crew are probably hiding around here.”

Ryan hears them start to get in the car and rev the engine. He leaps out from under cover just as the arms dealer makes to get into the car, and opens fire. She falls back with a scream, running towards the building, and the others race out of the parking lot with the back door still hanging open.

Ryan fires a few shots after them, but they’re long gone now, and he stands, breathing heavily. His arm is stinging, and he turns to find the arms dealer cowering against the wall of the building, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking down her cheeks. He advances towards her, only to pause when Gavin suddenly emerges from the window, swinging nimbly back over to the pipe and sliding down it like it’s a fireman’s pole. He lands neatly and turns to Ryan, shoving his sunglasses up. His eyes are dark and concerned.

“You’re hit,” he says, and Ryan realises he’s left a trail of sticky blood behind him.

“Nothing vital,” he snaps, and turns back to the woman, pointing his gun at her. Gavin reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

His voice is tight with alarm, and Ryan turns to him.

“Taking out their dealer.”

“Please,” she whimpers, eyes squeezed shut. “Please-”

“Jesus, Ryan - you don’t need to! Who cares what she’s seen, the others already know we were here!”

Ryan stares at him. There’s something so earnest in Gavin’s face that it almost embarrasses him. This is just how these jobs _go_ \- you align yourself with the enemy, you supply them with weapons, then you become someone to be eliminated. Dealers aren’t civilians and this woman is certainly no innocent. If Michael had been here, he wouldn’t have hesitated, considering it’s his job to make sure they leave no loose ends.

And Gavin - Gavin works for fucking _Gemini_ , known for taking out the husbands, wives, partners and children of anyone who stands in their way. That goes beyond taking out a supplier, that’s cold blooded fucking monstrosity-

Yet here he is looking at Ryan like _he’s_ the violent one, the fucking unreasonable one, and he feels something hot and ashamed in his chest. He yanks his arm away, and Gavin takes a step back, uneasily.

“What are you giving me that fucking look for?” he snaps. “As if your lot haven’t done worse.”

“You don’t have to,” Gavin says, softly. “We take her stock and leave. That’s all we _need_ to do.”

This has to be some kind of joke, some trap or trick. Gavin’s working with her, or Gemini needs her for something - but he feels embarrassed, now, and when Gavin moves to search the other body, he’s left staring into the woman’s frightened eyes and feeling like a monster, feeling like a killer, like Dodger back there. He lowers his gun and sees her sink back in relief.

“Get up,” he says, voice tight. “Go inside. No sudden moves. Grab me a first aid kit then pack up as much ordnance as you have in the store. You’re helping us take it to the van.”

“Of course - of course, anything,” she whimpers, scrambling to her feet. Ryan glances over at Gavin to find the other man watching him where he’s crouched over the the corpse. Ryan fumes, wondering what the hell he’s trying to play at. Either way, his arm hurts, and he just wants to get the fuck out of here.

* * *

 

**vii. loudly, softly**

_You’d think at some point you’d get used to the shouting, when it’s so constant._

_That it’d stop having an impact, stop hurting so much, stop making your heart leap in your chest like it could fly right out of your throat, like you’re breathing so fast you think your lungs might break, like your whole body seems to have locked up like stone, braced for a hit._

_It never stops. It’s just as bad every damn time._

_When he’s ten years old and first moves to his Great Uncle’s house after the accident, when he’s being screamed at for being too noisy, too messy, causing too much trouble around the place, I never wanted a damn kid, just stay out of my way-_

_When he’s fifteen and hiding out in the school yards behind a tree. Hears the hollering of the other boys looking for him, presses his back flat to the truck and tries to remember how to breathe. Closes his eyes and imagines what it would be like to get out of here, to just get_ out _of here, to leave these assholes behind and travel the world and make something of himself, become more than any of them think - than any of them_ expect _from some stupid poor orphan fairy boy. Did you know he’s a poofter? Did you know he has no parents? Did you know he’s not from money, not like the rest of us - what will you be, Free, will you end up cleaning our toilets, will you empty our bins, why don’t you get some practice and just start right now-_

_When it’s Alex Clayton after a bad fucking day at work and let’s just hope he hasn’t been drinking, let’s just hope there’s nothing around to throw, let’s just hope you can impress him enough that he doesn’t take it out on you because you know it would be a shame, wouldn’t it, if you disappointed us Free, because I took a fucking chance on you, I stuck my fucking neck out so you’d better not embarrass me, you’d better not make me fucking regret it-_  

“What the fuck happened?”

As soon as Michael opens the door and sees Ryan holding his bleeding arm, his face clouds over. Gavin can tell right away that he hasn’t had a relaxing time back here at the house. His hair’s dishevelled like he’s been pulling at it, and there are sunken wells under his eyes. He smells like strong coffee, undercut with a faint hint of vodka.

“Had a bit of an incident,” Ryan says.

“What the _fuck_ , Ryan?” There’s shrill panic in Michael’s voice. “Are you hurt?”

“Not badly.”

“What was it, a knife?”

“Gun,” Ryan admits, and Michael’s face goes nearly white.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, come _in_ here.”

Gavin slinks in after them, pausing to shut and lock the door while they go on ahead. It’s a relief to step into the warm house, but he still can’t stop shivering, and it’s not just from the cold. He doesn’t want to talk to either of them, not after all that happened. The drive home was silent and tense. He knows Ryan’s angry with him, and there are too many possible reasons why. But he hadn’t wanted to see that woman die - he never wants to see _anyone_ die.

He wishes he could just disappear into his room, but they need to debrief. He takes a deep breath, and follow them into the sitting room.

Michael’s got Ryan on the couch and is already fussing over him, making him take his jacket off and push up his sleeve. Ryan reaches up and pulls his mask off. He hasn’t got paint on today, and Gavin avoids looking at him, moving carefully around the side of the room and sneaking the aircon up a few degrees before going to sit at the side table, pulling out his tablet to track the car.

“Fucking hell,” Michael says, “This could’ve hit an artery!”

“It didn’t, Michael. I’m _fine_.”

“You got _shot_.”

“Grazed,” Ryan assures him, and Michael stands for a moment, holding Ryan’s hand, his jaw clenched tight.

“It was them, wasn’t it?” he says through gritted teeth. “Who did this.”

There’s a long pause, the two of them looking intently at each other. Gavin watches from the corner of his eye, head ducked low.

“Yeah,” Ryan says finally. “Dodger. Two others. I killed one of them. European looking guy, tan, bleached hair.”

“I don’t know him,” Michael says, and sucks in a hissing breath. “Fuck. They could’ve killed you-”

“Michael-”

“ _Fuck_.” His voice rises, and he kicks the couch. Gavin’s shoulders hunch automatically. He wants to leave the room, but sits fused to his chair. He doesn’t look at them. 

“Michael.” Ryan’s gripping his arms now, leaning in, staring him in the eyes. His voice is gentle and protective and so damn different to everything Gavin’s heard from him so far. “I am _fine_. I’ve had much, much worse than this, you _know_ that. It’s just part of the job. We got what we needed done. No one got killed, except one of them. This will heal within a day or two - it’s not bad. It barely even hurts, hell, it doesn’t need stitches. It’s already all bandaged up. Look at me, Michael - _I’m okay_.”

Michael stares at him, wordless. He’s trembling, and Ryan’s hands run soothingly up and down his arms.

Ryan might be okay, Gavin thinks, but Michael sure isn’t. But after a moment he takes a deep, shaky breath, and nods, turning to look at Gavin instead.

“So what happened?” he demands, a clipped anger in it. “You weren’t meant to get into a firefight with these guys. Your plan go wrong again?”

“It was my fuck up,” Ryan cuts in, to Gavin’s relief. His throat had already been starting to close up, worried how he’d explain this one away. Ryan’s voice is flat, but Gavin can’t bring himself to look at him. Just sits, staring silently down at his tablet. “I couldn’t get the car tracker working, so I didn’t get out in time.”

“Shit,” Michael hisses. “But it’s working now?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, “And Gavin’s got all the files on what they’ve bought.”

They both turn to Gavin, and his mouth feels dry. He swallows and speaks up, quietly. Clinically. Just doing his job, here.

“They haven’t noticed the tracker yet. They’re heading out of the city, so they must have a main base somewhere out of Eastside, outside AC. Their ordnance so far is massive. The dealer’s been ordering real heavy duty stuff for them - a lot of dynamite, a lot of grenades. Ammo for automatic rifles. Whatever they’re planning, it’s a huge hit, and with the tank as well… we’ve gotta stop them before whatever it is happens. I’ll start looking up what targets they might have in AC, but hitting their base first and taking out those weapons is gonna be our priority.”

“Shit,” Michael mutters. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“They ever try something like that in New Jersey?” Ryan asked.

“No way. It was all assassinations and heists and shit - not destruction on that damn scale.”

There’s a pause. Gavin wants to ask if the Fakes own anything in Eastside that these others might target, but he’s too scared to speak. Somehow, no matter what question he asks, it seems to always backfire on him.

“Big job for a big crew,” Ryan murmurs finally, and Michael presses his lips together.

“They moved house,” he says. “I watched them, as much as I could with the cameras we had available. From what I’ve gathered, there are about two dozen of them. Maybe five or six are people I knew from before. The rest must’ve joined after I left. The ones who I do know are the worst of the worst- Kant’s little favourites, the real monsters. They won’t be easily stopped.”

“Was he there?” Ryan asks softly, and Michael shakes his head. Gavin saw how his spine stiffened.

“No sign of him,” he says. “Yet.”

Ryan nods. Another glum silence falls, then Michael reaches out and touches Ryan’s injured arm again, frowning.

“Why didn’t the tracker work?” he demands.

“I just couldn’t get it to start signalling.”

“You didn’t check it before you left?”

Ryan shakes his head, a bit sheepishly, and Michael sucks his breath in through his teeth.

“Fuck - Ryan - we can’t slip up like that! We can’t - these people are dangerous, we can’t take _any_ changes, any at all-”

“Michael-”

“They wouldn’t have fucking hesitated to kill you!”

“Calm down, I know that-”

“You _don’t_ know, you haven’t _seen_ , some of the shit they used to do-”

Their voices are rising, and Gavin gets up as quietly as he can. He picks up his laptop and leaves the room.

Maybe it’s just a domestic, maybe they’re not even really _angry_ with each other, maybe it doesn’t involve him - but Michael’s agitated, and Ryan was already pissed at him, and he’s not gonna be there. This safe house was meant to be just that, _safe_ \- safer than the base, at least - and he was stupid, _stupid_ to fantasise that maybe the Fakes would actually be nice people.

No one’s nice here.

No one’s nice and Gavin just can’t seem to stop fucking up, everything he says, every question he asks, only pisses them off. Best to keep to himself. He heads back to his room, and if he shuts the door it drowns out the argument to nothing but a muffled hum, and the vice around his chest eases just the tiniest bit.

* * *

 

Gavin's lying in bed, reading, when Michael barges into his room an hour later and nearly gives him the fright of his life.

"Jesus!" he cries, clutching at his chest - his first instinct is panic, that they've decided to kick him out or hurt him or he's done something wrong, something he didn't realise, and they're here to shout at him-

But Michael doesn't look angry. He's not even frowning as he marches in and sits himself down on the end of the bed.

"Got some files and shit to give you," he declares.

"Could you possibly knock next time?" Gavin squeaks, and Michael raises an eyebrow.

"It's our safehouse," he drawls.

"Yeah, but what if I was... was getting dressed or munking off or something?"

"Munking off? The fuck's that mean?" Michael demands, screwing his face up.

"You know," Gavin says, cheeks heating. "Having a wank."

"Oh. That would've been awkward, wouldn't it? Here's a solution: _don't do that in our fucking safehouse_. We don't wanna clean that shit up after you."

"I wasn't," Gavin says, thoroughly flustered by now. "I mean, I didn't - haven't-"

"Alright, calm down. No one will be catching anyone dick in hand. Can I give you this now? It's all the names and faces of the people we got so far. I'll let you look over it on your own time, send it to Clayton, etcetera."

Gavin nods. There's something a bit deliberately rushed in Michael's voice, and Gavin has no doubt he doesn't want to dwell on these individuals, doesn't want to talk to Gavin about which ones he knows. What they're like. Fair enough - they barely know each other, and this situation must be uncomfortable enough as is. He knows better than to try and ask.

He pushes his laptop towards Michael, who moves to plug his USB in, only to freeze.

"Is that a Halo desktop?" he demands, and Gavin glances at him, surprised.

"Yeah?"

"You play?"

"Used to," Gavin admits. God, he's barely thought about that in a long time - the things he used to do for fun, in those long summer holidays, in the rare times he was able to escape his uncle's house and stay over at Dan's place instead. Sometimes he could even feel like a normal kid.  And the best times after that, when they both graduated and he was finally _free_ , finally had a life he could call his own. When he wasn’t _scared_ all the fucking time.

Nowadays none of that seems relevant. It's all about surviving, day after day, and when he isn't working he's trying to rest.

There's something almost boyish about the way Michael's eyes have lit up a little, about how his long curls are scrunched up in one hand as he's sprawled on his stomach on the bed, resting on his elbows. He does have gorgeous hair, Gavin can't help but notice. It looks very soft. And when he's not scowling, not being angry or peevish, there's something quite charming about his face. Ryan's easily good looking, with that jaw and those eyes - but Gavin can see why he would be attracted to Michael, too.

He shakes off those silly thoughts.

"I assume you play too, then?" he asks, and Michael nods.

"Yeah - I mean, all of us in the crew are pretty big gamers. We get some pretty intense MarioKart matches going, I can tell you."

It's an unexpected insight, and Gavin manages something like a smile. Michael glances at him, seeming almost confused, but quickly turns back to the laptop, putting the USB in and transferring the files. There are a lot of them, and they're loading slowly. Michael casts about the bed - it's messy with Gavin's notebooks, and he reaches out and grabs one that's lying half-open.

"Hey!" Gavin protests, but Michael's already staring at one of his doodles.

"Did you draw this?" he demands.

"No, it just appeared in there one day," Gavin says, a bit annoyed - he kicks himself immediately, worried he'll rile up Michael - _stupid, stupid, don't you ever bloody learn_ \- but to his surprise Michael just snorts, something almost close to a laugh, and traces with his finger.

"That's a fucking complicated maze for a doodle!"

"I like mazes and puzzles," Gavin says softly, a bit unsure what's going on here. "They're fun to figure out."

"You would. Must be a bit like figuring how to get in or out of a place, right? Ryan said you were efficient as hell today."

Gavin looks down. He's sure it wasn't meant as a compliment, but it's... nice, for once, to get positive feedback instead of just being reprimanded for being too slow, for not getting enough information, for not always managing to go above and beyond.

Michael's trying to figure his way through the puzzle, but it’s pretty damn complicated, and after a moment he gives up and flicks through the rest of the book.

"Oh shit, there's more of them?"

Gavin nods, grimacing as Michael seems to have decided he is welcome to just full on peruse Gavin's personal notebook. 

"I catch public transport quite a bit," he admits. "Get a bit boring waiting for the bus sometimes."

"AC's public transport is absolute shit, so I can understand why, although I don't know why anyone would willingly subject themselves to it. Now these aren't mazes," he adds, and Gavin feels his cheeks heat even warmer. Michael's uncovered the cat sketches now.

"Dude, these are like, hyper-realistic. You some sort of art fiend? Figure you'd prefer to steal that stuff than create your own."

"I figured I should pick one thing to learn to draw and then only draw that particular thing until I became an expert," Gavin says, a bit defensively.

"That's fucking weird, but I can't argue with the logic. So you picked cats?"

"I love cats." He reaches out and snatches his book back, expecting some sort of mockery - but Michael looks legitimately quite impressed. Usually this would be nice, but Gavin's just bracing himself for the moment when all of this turns and he realises it was some trick or trap, or that Michael's just trying to distract him while Ryan searches his belongings again, or that he wants something.

"Fair enough. Lindsay - you know her, right, in our crew? - completely obsessed too. You own one?"

Gavin shakes his head.

"Not since I moved here. I live at the base so I can't."

"What, Clayton allergic or something?" Michael sneers, and Gavin looks away, tensing. In the silence that follows Michael seems to realise just how friendly he was getting, and looks a bit uncomfortable. He glances at the laptop, but the files have only half transferred by now.

"What are you sulking in here for, anyway?" he says after a moment, and Gavin stares at him.

"Sorry?"

"You were sitting out in the dining room yesterday."

Gavin really can't bloody believe this. For a moment a great, indignant tightness rises up in his chest. He wants to be the one to yell at Michael for once, to demand to know how he can even suggest that Gavin's fucking sulking when they're the ones who made it perfectly clear they want nothing to do at him. But shouting will only set him off, so he takes a deep breath instead, and lets it out slow.

"I thought you wanted me to stay out of your way," he says, tightly. "Besides, every time I say or do anything you scream at me."

Michael stares at him. He seems to think about it, and looks a bit embarrassed.

"Maybe if you weren't an asshole-"

"I'm not trying to be," Gavin interrupts, and fights a flinch, expecting Michael to snap at him, but nothing happens. The other man just stares at him, and Gavin swallows. "I'm not... I'm not trying to be, but apparently it comes automatically, so. I'll stay in here. Better for everyone."

Michael's quiet. The files have finished now, and Gavin pulls the USB out and shuts his laptop. He hands it to Michael, stomach churning, hoping he'll just leave him in peace - but the other man doesn't move, even after he takes it back. Gavin picks up his book again, hoping he'll get the hint, but after a moment Michael clears his throat.

"Ryan... Ryan said you saved him back there. That you shot those guys from the window when they were closing in on him."

"You go on a job with someone, you should have their back," Gavin says flatly. "You may find it hard to believe, but I don't actually want the two of you dead."

Michael tilts his head.

"Said you wouldn't let him kill the arms dealer, either. She's not a good person, you know. She's no innocent. We worked with her even back when I was with them. She helped Kant do a lot of very shitty things. Why save her? Gemini have done far worse."

Gavin looks down, and closes his eyes. But Michael's not moving, and after a moment he takes a deep breath. His heart's pounding, and he doesn't even know why. It should be easy to tell the truth, but he feels sick, like this is too personal, like whatever might happen next just matters too fucking much.

"I don't like killing anything," he says.

"Dude, you work for Gemini," Michael snaps. "That statement makes no damn sense."

"I don't like killing anything," Gavin repeats, and bites his lip before adding, voice nearly shaking, "I don't... I might work for Gemini, but that doesn't mean I approve of everything they do. I don't take part in it. I'm just the thief."

Michael's silent for a long moment, seeming to process this. Gavin doesn't look at him, staring down at his hands twisting in the blankets instead.

"Then why'd you stay with them?" he asks, finally. "Everyone knows what the Hart twins do. If you dislike it so much, why fucking contribute? Why don't you just leave?"

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut.

_Why don't you just tell him?_ A voice screams in his head, but the words seize up in his throat, and he knows he won't be able to say them.

_He could help you._

_Or he might not give a damn._ Because the Fake AH Crew's always seemed too good to be true, and even if they’re close to each other, they only take care of their own. Isn't that what Ryan said to him, just today? 

And the voice in his head, the voice that’s been there the last six months and only gotten louder the last week or so, rises up again. _Who are you trying to fool, kid? You really think someone could care about you? You really think you’re ever gonna get out of here? You’re not smart enough on your own, not strong enough, you can break out of any building in the world but you can’t get yourself out of this damn mess._

_You think anyone in this city gives two shits about what’s happened to you?_

_No one fucking cares. No one cares about anything except their own self interest, except maybe the ones they love-_

_And they don’t love you. You'll find no salvation here or anywhere. Don't be stupid. Don't get your damn hopes up._

He takes a deep breath and instead says, quietly, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"For what I said before, about you going to school? I... I didn't mean it to insult you, I was just surprised. And I'm sorry about before that, too. I know this whole situation's hard for you, I... I didn't mean to imply you were stupid or weak or anything."

Michael looks shocked. Doesn't seem to know what in the world to say. Gavin bites his lip, nervously.

"School sucked, anyway," he continues. He doesn't know why the hell he's still talking, except that this is the first time in a long time that he's sat down with someone and they've listened rather than snapping at him, and even if he's quite sure that could change any second now, when he darts a glance up at Michael the other man still doesn't look angry. "Nothing fun about being packed off to boarding school because your family don't want you."

Something flickers across Michael's face. He's staring at Gavin, who barely dares to glance back and meet his eyes, looking down again almost immediately.

"My parents didn't care to send me," Michael replies, slowly - hesitantly - and swallows. "Well, my father especially. Was the main one around, and even then he wasn't, much. So there was a lot of shit I didn't get. Education being one of them."

"Sorry to hear that," Gavin whispers.

"It's in the past. Managed to learn the basics anyway. Just - it sucks, when people just make it perfectly damn clear they don't want you around."

"It was my great-uncle," Gavin murmurs, so softly he doesn't even know if Michael will hear it. "My parents died when I was pretty young."

Michael must've heard - he nods, something nearly sympathetic in his eyes, and Gavin swallows hard. He hasn't spoken about that in a long time. Has never told someone who might care before. He didn't think Michael would, but - there's something gentle to his face. Again Gavin wonders if this is some trap - but Michael just waits for him to continue.

But Gavin's out of things to say, now.

"Guess that's how we end up doing things like rob banks," he jokes weakly, and Michael rolls his eyes.

"Got to get what we want somehow. But sure, I'll totally blame the fact that I wasn't given my moral education in civics and citizenship." He rises, glancing around the room, and Gavin sees his gaze lingers on the clothes slung over the back of the chair and stuffed into his duffle bag on the floor. "You wear a lot of black."

"What?" Gavin asks, startled.

"I said you wear a lot of black."

"Oh." He bites his lip. "Easiest thing to wash when you're in a job where things get dirty a lot."

“Logical,” Michael says, nodding. “Figured it was just your _aesthetic_.”

Gavin’s lips twitch, and he thinks he sees Michael smile a bit, too. It’s nice - makes his face look softer. Makes him seem less angry - makes Gavin, in turn, just a bit less scared.

“What’s your real favourite colour, then?” he asks, and it’s such an unexpected question that it takes Gavin a moment to answer.

“I - what? Oh. I like blue.”

He thinks he sees Michael’s eyes widen a little - sees something about that touch him, for whatever damn reason. It’s just a stupid colour, after all. But Michael stares at him a long moment, something thoughtful in his face. After a moment, he gets up from the bed and moves towards the door - only to hesitate again, glancing back over his shoulder at Gavin, who sits watching him uncertainly.

“You eat pizza?” Michael asks, roughly.

Gavin nods, confused.

“Yes. Who doesn’t like pizza?”

“I don’t fucking know,” there’s something almost flustered in how defensive Micahel sounds suddenly. “People who are apparently on a weird instant noodle diet.”

Gavin scoffs, something hurt and humiliated shooting through his chest.

“I’m not on a bloody diet,” he snaps. “Clayton was being an asshole because he picked a pricey restaurant and didn’t want to pay for four people.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Michael demands.

It’s not the quite the truth, but close enough, and Gavin shrugs. Michael stares at him, eyes narrowed - then jerks his head out towards the corridor.

“Well, good, because you look like you could do with eating an entire damn cake. Come on, we’re about to order lunch. You can join us. If you want,” he adds, again almost defensive, as Gavin stares at him in surprise. “Up to you, I don’t fucking know.”

Gavin nods, perhaps a bit too eagerly. He starts to rise, but Michael suddenly raises a hand, and he freezes, shoulders tensing.

“Wait,” Michael snaps, and for a moment Gavin’s chest seizes, and _this is it_ , he thinks, _just a trick after all, ha ha ha, stupid fucking Gavin actually thought you might not hate him for once._ But a moment later Michael asks, “Pineapple on pizza, yes or no?”

The world seems to warm again, and he can breathe.

“No?” he replies, carefully. “The texture’s all wrong and it makes the base soggy.”

“Good!” Michael says, and grins widely. It lights his whole face up in a way that nearly brightens Gavin, too, that really does make him look beautiful. “The only sensible answer. We can outnumber Ryan. Come on, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **My fanmix for this story <3**  ](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/162118095364/oh-come-child-come-and-rescue-me-cause-you-have)


	5. Chapter 5

**viii. family**

_It's Pete who teaches him how to read._

_Michael's felt stupid for a long fucking time, and he feels even worse when the truth comes out, when he can't hide any more that he barely learned his alphabet before Mom packed up and left, and Dad sure didn't care to keep sending him to school after that, and it's embarrassing even if he plays it off like he doesn't care._

_He's expecting to be yelled at, because Pete's got a mad fucking temper on him, but he doesn't. Just sits down with some stupid kid's story and says, okay, we start here._ This is Peter, this is Jane, this is Pat the fucking dog _, and Michael hates it at first but not once does Pete's voice slip into condescension, not once does he act like this is different to how he taught Michael to pick a lock or hot-wire a car. Just another skill, just something else he'll give him, to help him get by here._

_No matter what else happens, no matter what changes as the years go by and Michael gets bigger and the city gets darker and the jobs get bloodier- he never forgets that, how the other man taught him, shaped him, how Pete wasn't just a crime lord with an army of child soldiers but his teacher, his mentor-_

"Yes, Geoff, I'm sure I'm doing okay."

The sun's finally out, spilling through the kitchen window as Michael stands watching the steam from his coffee fog the glass. Outside, Ryan’s holding two weights and shadowboxing. In the golden light everything feels a little dream-like, a little unreal. He keeps forgetting what day it is.

"Alright," Geoff replies. Even over the phone Michael can picture the concerned twist to his mouth, his moustache practically bristling. It makes him smile. "But if it gets too much you tell me, you understand? None of the others would mind stepping in and there are definitely jobs I could use your help on back here."

"I got it, Geoff. I’ll be _fine."_

Saying it can almost make him believe it. He's going stir-crazy in the house, but last night they scoped out the Lost’s main base outside AC and now they're working their way up to hitting it. It will be good to finally put his energy towards something instead of just sitting around with nothing but his own thoughts burning him up.

And it's good to hear Geoff's voice again. It jolts him out of the strange daze he keeps falling into, out here with no one but Ryan and Gavin and - a phantom presence he's constantly aware of - Gemini, Dodger. _Pete._

It's only been three days but with everything that's going on he misses the crew, misses Geoff mixing drinks after a bad day at work or Jack showing up with the first aid kit, misses the sound of Lindsay singing in the next room and how sitting sprawled on the couch playing video games with Jeremy and Mica can always cheer him up.

He wants to go home. Wants to be reminded where home _is._

But like hell he's gonna let that stop him from doing his damn job.

"Okay. Well, if you lot want to come in later this afternoon, we've got in some shit that might help you with the hit - and the new vehicles."

"Oh shit, the cars came in?"

"Yessss," Geoff says, and cackles gleefully. "You're missing out, dude, we've been playing with them all day. The armoured kuruma is wicked. Totally fucking bulletproof, man. You're untouchable in that thing."

"Holy shit. Yes. We'll head there in an hour or so."

He's grinning by the time he hangs up the phone. Ryan's injury terrified him, yesterday. It's usually the other way around, Ryan paranoid about Michael getting hurt, and for good reason - but if anything was to happen to him, if this crew was to get to him, Michael is quite certain it would break him.

But knowing they’ll have new gear when they go in makes him feel more excited, more like they can actually win this.

He opens the window and leans out, rapping on the glass until Ryan notices.

"Hey!" he calls out - Ryan tilts his head, shoulders heaving. He's just wearing a tank top, his hands wrapped, and Michael can see the sweat glistening on his shoulders in the morning light. "Geoff wants us to come pick up some new vehicles and shit for tonight. I said we'd be there in an hour. That alright?"

"Vehicles? The new cars?" Ryan asks, and Michael nods, laughing when Ryan grins.

"Yeah - I thought they wouldn't be here 'til next week! Means we get to use them on this job."

"Then fuck yeah, why wait? I'll just cool down then I'll be in," Ryan says, and Michael nods. He watches as Ryan turns away, dropping the weights and stretching, and grins as he admires him for a moment.

Sometimes he wonders how he got this lucky. For a long time he was alone, convinced he was just too fucked up to ever find someone that he wouldn't end up pushing away. But after he joined the Fakes, when Ryan came along... suddenly it didn't seem so impossible anymore. 

They didn't get along at first, of course. Michael hated the Vagabond's reputation, thought it too similar to all the shit he'd run from Jersey to get away from. But when the mask finally came off, when he saw Ryan beneath - gentle, kind, just so terribly broken...

It was the first time he'd connected with someone properly in a long time. Oh, he loves the others of course. They’re home, and family, and he owes more to Geoff than he can ever repay. But Ryan’s the first he trusted enough to properly open up about his past to, the first he could talk to without seeing damned pity in their eyes - the first he didn't worry would see him as a monster.

After three years they're so comfortable with one another that Ryan feels like an extension of himself, something constantly present and safe, that keeps him stable when he feels like he might fall apart.

His smile is still lingering as he turns away, picking up his cup, only to pause as he looks into the sitting room.

Gavin's sitting on the couch, feet curled up under him, picking at a bowl of cereal. Michael frowns as he goes to meet him. The three of them were all up pretty late last night, trying to figure out what their next move should be, and for the first time there wasn't too much tension between them.

He just can't figure Gavin out.

He hadn't intended to get to know the other man, but the other day in his room - and later, as they ate together... he just can't seem to put his finger on who Gavin Free _is_. Oh, he knows who the Shadow is, alright - a genius thief, the mastermind of Gemini's plans, interested not just in the biggest haul he can get but in the _challenge_ of infiltrating the most secure vaults, prisons and mansions in the city. Silent, unflappable, not wasting his time on others.

But Gavin - Gavin who's quiet and borderline awkward, who hides in his room because the others shouted at him, who doodles mazes and cats in his notebooks of secret planning... it's uncomfortably human.

And what he'd said. _I don't like killing anything._

That one line's stuck in Michael's head. Since he heard it, it's easier to look at Gavin and not think about all the shit Gemini's done - all the shit Kant used to make them do. He doesn't think of the mutilated bodies in the photos, but of how Gavin turned away and wouldn't look at them. Not of cold blooded executions, but of Ryan's report _\- he stopped me. Wouldn't let me damn do it. Seemed serious about it, too._

Oh, he still doesn't trust him - but Gavin just seems so weirdly, genuinely _hurt_ by their hostility so far. It's not what Michael expected from Gemini - he expected Gavin not to care. It would be easy to hate him, if he didn't.

Michael might be an asshole, but he's not totally devoid of empathy. Something just - doesn't feel right here, and if Gavin is telling the truth, well... it changes things, a little. Still doesn't make him a good person, but makes it easier to be around him without feeling sick, without seeing himself reflected in the other man's violence.

"Free!" he barks.

Gavin twists to look at him, questioningly. He seems less wary today than he sometimes does.

"Just got off the phone with Geoff," Michael says, perching on the arm of the couch opposite him. "He's got a bunch of new gear for us. A fucking awesome armoured car that will be ideal for getting us in and out of there, and I think a bunch more ordnance. We're gonna go pick that up first, then we can use it to finalise the plan."

Now Gavin's stiffened - he lays his bowl aside.

"We?" he asks softly, and Michael tilts his head.

"I figured we'd all come," he replies, "Just so Geoff can explain it all to us, maybe help us come up with the plan."

But now, of course, he's thinking about it - the garage they're meeting in isn't their main base, but it's still a site they use pretty often. Bringing anyone from another crew in is pretty fucking risky. It's not that he thinks Gavin will try something then and there - it's the potential for him to go and tell Clayton where it is. To attack later on, or rob them, or sell them out to the police.

From the look on Gavin's face, he doesn't seem sold on the idea either.

"I... you want me to come to one of your hideouts?" he asks. "That's not very cautious."

"There a reason I should be cautious?" Michael points out, and Gavin shrugs a bit.

"Just pointing it out," he murmurs.

"You don't wanna come, then?"

"Would you want to come back to Gemini's base with me?" Gavin points out, a bit defensively. "Sure, you'd get intel, but you'd be walking into the belly of the beast."

Michael considers this for a moment. It's easy to say fuck that, he'd be brave, he'd waltz in there like he owns the damn place - but truth be told, if it was just him, alone, he probably wouldn't be that keen on surrounding himself with people working for their crew's biggest nemesis either.

"You'll be fine," he says. "I'm sure you've heard about the Fakes. Unlike your lot, we keep our damn word. You're on our side for now, so no one’s gonna fuck with you. But hell, no one's forcing you to come. You wanna sit around back here, be my guest."

Gavin bites his lip. He looks away, and Michael can practically see him thinking - but after a moment he nods.

"Alright. I'll come. I might have questions for your people about the new gear and how we can use it."

Michael nods. There's a slightly strange pause as the two of them sit there, alone together. Michael wonders, suddenly, what Gavin thinks of him - of this whole mess with the Lost, of the infamous Mogar, of his relationship with Ryan. Not much might show on the other man's face, but Michael doesn't doubt his keen eyes pick up on more than they realise.

Ryan enters then, sauntering in the back door and dropping his weights back in a crate of training gear. The thud makes Gavin jump like a startled bird, and Michael watches him stare at Ryan as the other man strips his shirt off, crossing the room towards the laundry.

For a moment something possessive curls in his chest. Ryan chucks his shirt in the wash and turns at the same time, eyebrows rising when he finds _both_ of them looking at him.

"Free?" he prompts, and Gavin's eyes snap up to his. His cheeks turn bright red and he glances at Michael, looks momentarily horrified, then starts shaking his head.

"Sorry, I - I wasn't trying to stare, just." A weak gesture towards Ryan's chest. "That's, um. Creative. Never seen that before."

At once the tension flees Michael's shoulders and he lets out a great snort. Of course - he's gotten so used to it he barely notices it anymore. Ryan's stupid fucking skull-shaped chest hair. It started as a damn joke, letting Michael wax that on him, then the hair didn't grow back properly and now he claims he's committed. There it sits, a ridiculous piece of macabre landscaping just underneath the ring hanging on a chain around his throat.

"Oh my God," he says, as Ryan splutters indignantly. "It's fucking ridiculous, isn't it?"

Gavin glances between them, seeming torn between agreeing and not wanting to piss Ryan off.

"It's... unique," he manages.

"Unique my ass," Michael declares, "It's fucking stupid, and I'm the one who has to put up with looking at it!" 

"This is part of the Vagabond's image," Ryan says, with mock-irritation, and Michael rolls his eyes, getting up to grab a towel and walking over to shove it against Ryan's chest.

"It's way too fucking extra is what it is."

He starts laughing, and after a minute, Gavin does too - stifled, squeaky giggles, so quiet that Michael only notices when he glances over at him and sees the other man covering his mouth with one hand. He falls silent and Gavin laughs a moment longer before looking up at him.

For a second - his eyes crinkled in genuine amusement, a proper smile still tugging at his lips - he looks... _nice_ , in a way Michael doesn't expect. In a way that takes him by surprise. But Gavin seems flustered, and rises quickly.

“I’ll go get ready,” he says, and leaves the room in such a rush he nearly trips over his own feet.

Michael stares after him, bemused. Ryan’s watching him too.

“That’s the first time we’ve heard him laugh,” he comments after a minute, and Michael nods, resting his chin on Ryan’s bare shoulder.

“You think it’s alright to let him come to the garage with us?” he asks, and Ryan sighs a bit.  
  
“Suppose so. Double check with Geoff. There’s something strange about all this, Michael,” he adds, turning and clasping Michael’s arms. “I just can’t put my finger on it. Yesterday, at lunch…”

“He didn’t say a damn word the whole time.”

“No, but… he was watching us, and not in an _I’m plotting against you way_.” Ryan pauses, and makes a frustrated sound. “I dunno. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was glad not to be left out. Why the hell would he care, if Gemini hates our crew?”

Michael’s silent a moment, thinking about it.

“He says he doesn’t like what Gemini does. Yet he’s worked for them a whole fucking year,” he mutters finally. “And… isn’t it just as bad to be a bystander? To _know_ what’s happening is wrong and not do a damn thing about it? To enable it by coming up with their plans for them, by pulling their heists?”

Ryan doesn’t seem to know what to say, and after a moment he lets out a low sigh.

“We won’t let our guard down,” he mutters, “But think about this. If he did mean what he said, he might be a weak link to figure out what Gemini’s plotting. We stay on task. We take down Kant. And we act on the assumption that Clayton and the Hart twins want to fuck us over. Since Gavin’s the one here with us, he’s our best way of figuring out how.”

Michael nods. It makes sense - but he still feels uneasy, and he can tell from the way Ryan keeps glancing at the door Gavin left through that he’s thinking about it as well.

_Maybe Geoff and the others can get a better read on this_ , he thinks, and smiles as he shakes his doubts off and focuses on the fact that they’re about to see the others again. _Remember, you don’t have to figure this out alone._

 

* * *

 

"Oh shit, Burnie's here too!" Michael exclaims, reaching out and nudging Ryan excitedly.

As Ryan pulls into the garage lot, Michael sees Gavin sit up a little in the backseat, peering out the window. He's not armed, and gave up his gun easily enough - but he seems nervous, now, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

There’s a group of people in the car park, unloading crates from a truck.

"What's he doing here?" Ryan replies.

"No clue - must've brought something for us. Let's go see."

Burnie's yelling and waving his arms, directing the group of men who are unloading the big trunks around the garage doorway. Michael hasn't seen him in a while, and as soon as Ryan stop the car he leaps out eagerly. One of Geoff's old friends, and the leader of his previous crew before he went off to start his own gang in AC, he drops around pretty often to help the Fakes with things, and Michael would be lying if he said he didn't idolise him just a bit. Burnie's everything he wants to be - careful, smart, successful, and able to pull off outrageous jobs without making a mess. 

He turns when he sees Michael and smiles, lifting his sunglasses so Michael can see the warmth in his eyes.

"Hey, Michael. Geoff said you and Ryan were dropping by. How's the job going?"

"Slowly but surely," Michael replies - he'd be surprised if Geoff had told Burnie all the details, and he doesn't want to get into it right now. "What are you doing here? What's all that?"

He nods towards the truck. Burnie follows his gaze.

"Careful!" he snaps, as one man hauls another box out. "We've just brought some charges for Geoff's next heist - the one at Trinity Vaults? - we need to test them out first, make sure they're powerful enough to get through the door."

Ryan approaches, Gavin sidling quietly along behind him. 

"Gavin Free!" Burnie declares, peering around Ryan to look at him. Gavin stiffens a little. "Geoff mentioned you were working together."

Gavin nods, expressionless. They've not met before, Michael recalls, though Burnie's more than aware of his reputation... and who he works for. Still - he doesn't seem to let any of that show, just smiles away at him, tactful as always.

"Heard a lot about you, kid. I could actually use your opinion on something. Since you’re an expert at breaking into the unbreakable, right?”

“Yes,” Gavin replies, very cautiously. Once Michael would’ve thought it arrogance - but after everything else he’s seen, it suddenly seems more like worry.

"Great! Have a look at these charges for me, let me know what you think about using them against a vault door. I've got pictures of the room in question- we just have to set a few of these bad boys up first."

Michael's a bit surprised he's happy to just reveal his plans to someone working for Gemini - but at that moment Geoff walks out of the garage, and they all turn to greet him.

"There you are!" 

He approaches Michael first, tugging him into a quick hug - so brief it probably just looks like two friends greeting each other, but Michael can feel the way he squeezes him, and how his eyes flick over him afterwards, making sure he's okay. Once the concern would've embarrassed him, now he appreciates it. Knows Geoff won't make a big deal about this, but the support’s there. That's what matters.

When they step apart he can see Gavin watching them. As Geoff's eyes turn to him, he inches a little closer to Michael and Ryan. It's fucking odd to think he might feel even remotely more comfortable with the two of them.

Geoff peers at him. They've met before, but he still sticks his hand out for Gavin to shake.

"How's it going?" Polite, but guarded.

"Good," Gavin murmurs. With his glasses on he's slipped back to that implacable visage. He takes Geoff's hand and seems surprised by how firmly Geoff grasps it.

"I'm glad. It's not often two gangs with reputations like ours cooperate on something this way. But we appreciate Gemini working with us on this." He gazes at Gavin steadily, seeming to see right past the dark glasses. "Generous offer, suggesting we keep the tank."

"They value the drugs more," Gavin replies.

"Yeah?" Geoff asks. He hasn't let go of Gavin's hand, even when he tries to pull back. Gavin stares up at him.

"Apparently," he says softly. "Clayton and the twins arranged it all. What I'm focused on is just getting rid of these guys." 

Geoff stares at him for a long moment.

"Okay," he says finally, and gives a decisive nod. He lets go of Gavin and steps back, jerking his head towards the garage. "Well, I've got the cars in there to show you, and some sweet new explosives..."

He trails off, glancing at Burnie, some silent exchange passing between them. Burnie steps forward and gestures at Gavin.

"Free - mind giving me a hand with setting these up before we go over the plan later? I could use someone who knows what they're doing."

Gavin hesitates. He glances at Michael, then nods.

"I... sure."

"Great! You seen these before? Know how to arm one?"

Gavin stares at the crate for a long moment, then nods.

“…yeah.”

Burnie nods, and leads him off towards where he’s set up a table some way away. Michael sees Gavin glance back towards them as he follows, but before long they’re following Geoff inside.

The garage is actually an enormous old hangar, some way out the east side of the city, where the new things they get for heists are delivered and they fix them up to prepare them for jobs. To one side is a small plane, currently under repairs, that he remembers they used a few heists ago. It had a rough landing on the beach, but they made it - shit, that was a good time, and he grins just remembering it. 

And the new cars - oh, there they are, across the garage. His breath catches.

The armoured kuruma is up on blocks, a mechanic working beneath it. It's a real nice car, with its shiny black plating and shielded windscreen. Looks tough. He's been waiting a while for this one.

The insurgent's a few metres away from him - a beast of a thing, something he expects can take a bunch of hits and keep on ticking. Ryan whistles appreciatively as they approach.

"That's a beauty," he says.

Geoff's laughing, gleeful.

"She is," he agrees, "And I'm gonna paint it hot pink!"

"No," Ryan gasps, glancing at him in horror. "You would not defile such majesty."

"I'm joking," Geoff assures him, and sighs. "Not subtle enough in a heist, sadly. But one day... if this all goes well, I'll add one to my fleet."

"Your fleet of Barbie vehicles?" Michael teases, and Geoff turns to him, bristling.

"How dare you try and shame such a powerful female role model?"

"Yeah. Barbie: Grand Theft Auto, that's the next one they'll make. Inspire kids everywhere." He goes up and lays a hand on the side of the car, circling it slowly, smiling as he takes in all the details. 

Geoff's beckoning someone over, and Michael lights up as Jeremy approaches, waving. He was over by the plane, monitoring repairs. 

"I'll get Mister J to explain this one to you, but first," Geoff says, and nods at the garage door, "What's up with Free?"

"I told you we'd bring him along," Michael says, momentarily alarmed - but Geoff just flaps a hand.

"Yeah, sure, but what's the play? What're Gemini up to? What's your read on him? That's a damn small safe house, dude, don't tell me you're not all up in each other's asses in there."

"There's only one ass I'm up in and it's not Free's," Ryan mutters, but exchanges a glance with Michael. There's a long silence. Sure, it's been three days - three days and things have only gotten _less_ clear.

"He's very quiet," Ryan admits, finally. "But we're... we're finding it hard to tell."

"Hard to tell?" Geoff asks. "No fucking wonder, that kid's like a damn statue!"

"No, not just that. Well, partly that," Michael says, "But he's... he's said some fucking weird things."

"Like?"

"Like, I don't think he actually likes Clayton all that much? He got all pissed about having to report back to him. And he said he doesn’t like killing people, or the stuff Gemini does.”

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jeremy chimes in.

“Exactly my reaction, Jeremy,” Michael says, glancing at him - then at Geoff, who’s frowning thoughtfully. “Why the fuck is he still one of their main players if he doesn’t like them? So we thought maybe he was lying, trying to get on our good side-”

“Except it doesn’t _feel_ right,” Ryan cuts in. “I know that sounds stupid but it just - _doesn’t_. He’s constantly been able to prove he’s genuine about working together. When we tried to steal his phone he wasn’t even pissed.”

Geoff strokes his moustache thoughtfully.

“Weird,” he declares finally.

“You’re telling me!” Michael cries, throwing his hands up. “Anyway, if he does dislike them, we reckon he might be a weak link to use to figure out their plan, because there’s no way they aren’t up to something.”

“Put a bug in his bag,” Jeremy suggests. “If he takes it with him, you can hear what he and Clayton are talking about when they’re not in the house. It’ll have to be a _tiny_ one, though, so he doesn’t find it.”

They stare at him - then Michael laughs, and shoots him a thumbs up.

“Fucking smart, li'l J! If we can get a chance to do it, that might actually work.”

Geoff nods.

"Alright. I trust you guys to handle it. Jeremy, show Michael around these cars - Ryan, let me go introduce you to the new mini-guns we have in."

Ryan rubs his hands together gleefully, like a child, and Michael can only stare at him fondly as he wanders off after Geoff.

It doesn't take long for Jeremy to show him the way of the two cars; there wasn't much Michael hadn't already looked up when they got to thinking of buying them. Either way, they're two tough bastards and even with the other crew's tank, he's feeling good about their chances of pulling off this hit.

_Maybe, for once, something won't go wrong. Could do with a victory._

Jeremy hands him the keys once they're done, and they're left lingering together for a moment. Jeremy keeps glancing at him, and Michael knows he wants to ask something. He waits, eyebrow raised, until Jeremy finally swallows.

"Hey, that safe house you're staying in."

"What about it?"

"Is it strange having Gavin there when usually it's just our crew? I was just thinking how Matt and Mica and I were there a couple months ago and it'd be... weird, seeing someone else around. Since we have memories there, y'know."

There's something odd in his face, and Michael stares intently at him.

_We have memories there._

God. He's been so distracted by the Lost that he'd forgotten, for a moment, about the safe house - about the last time they stayed there - about _Ray._ It's something he tries not to think about, but when Ryan first brought it up - for a moment, all the old pain came back. For a moment, he couldn't stop wondering again.

"That's not what you're actually trying to ask," he snaps, because he can see something guilty in how Jeremy's eyes flicker away and shoulders hunch.

"You're right. Sorry. I'm probably being too nosy, just - when we were there, they said you and Ryan and Ray were there last, and... I figured it must be strange having Gavin there instead of him now. After all that went down, you know."

For a moment Michael wants to snap at him. To lash out and let himself be angry so that he doesn't have to feel hurt. But it's not Jeremy's fault what happened, and of course he's curious - why wouldn't he be? They're all fucking curious what happened. Even Michael. Even Ryan. That's all Ray left them with, isn't it, the bastard? Just a whole lot of God damn curiosity.

"I honestly haven't thought about it much," he admits. "Too stressed about the other stuff. But it is... strange, I guess. Remembering how... how close we used to be."

Jeremy doesn't know the whole story. But he knows enough to eye Michael sidelong.

"You still haven't heard from him?" he asks, quietly.

"Not a damn word," Michael snaps.

"Has Geoff ever tried to contact him? I barely knew him so I never really wanted to ask, but-"

"Geoff's asked him a couple times to work with us on jobs when we needed a sniper," Michael says, curtly. "He's always said he's busy and sent recommendations for people closer to AC instead. So he doesn't wanna come back, Jeremy, and I'm not gonna fucking push it."

"Jesus. That really sucks," Jeremy says, and usually the pity would be loathsome, but it's Jeremy, and he's family, and Michael doesn't want to take it out on him.

"Yeah," he grunts instead, and takes a deep breath. "It does."

He strides for the door and jerks his head for Jeremy to follow.

"Come on," he says, suddenly wanting air, wanting to get out, to change the subject, to leave at least some of those unwanted memories in the dust. "Let's see how Free's getting on."

 

* * *

 

Michael has no idea what sort of new gadgetry Burnie's brought, but what he does notice as he returns to the parking lot is that Burnie's got a whole bunch of them set up on another table nearby, and Gavin's still hovering around the same one he had before. Now and then he reaches out to fiddle with it, but otherwise he's just fidgeting with his hands and clothes.

Burnie turns and heads back over just as Michael gets close enough to hear them.

"How's it going?" he calls out, only to pause. "What happened? Something wrong with that one?"

Gavin swallows, fists clenching at his sides. Michael puts a hand out to stop Jeremy, lingering back a little, not wanting to interrupt.

"No," Gavin murmurs. "I..."

"What?"

It's strange seeing them face off, two sets of dark sunglasses staring at one another. Gavin looks like a fucking marionette with its strings pulled taut, shoulders back and tight, spine rigid.

"I don't know how to set these up," he admits.

"What?" Burnie asks. His arms unfold a little. "You said you did."

"I've read about them, but never used them," Gavin replies, quietly. "I mean, this is top of the line stuff. Must've been hard to get so early - Gemini hasn't got their hands on any yet, so I've never actually used them before."

Burnie stares at him for a long moment. Gavin's head turns away, and Michael can see the sharp profile of his jaw as it clenches. 

"Alright," Burnie says finally. "Next time just tell me, so you're not standing around for fifteen minutes."

"I thought I could figure it out," Gavin murmurs. "Sorry."

Burnie gives him a considering look. Then he reaches out to beckon - Gavin jerks back automatically, and they both freeze, a long, awkward pause before Burnie slowly lowers his hand, his eyes never leaving Gavin.

"Come here," he says softly, and walks over to the table. After a moment’s hesitation, Gavin follows warily. Michael cranes his neck to see, curious - but Burnie just pushes the charge towards Gavin.

"Start by putting those two together," he says, gesturing at something just out of sight. "Go on. That one just goes right in there."

"What the fuck is he showing him how to use that for?" Jeremy hisses. "He works for Gemini. Last thing we need is the people on their side having _more_ skills."

Michael just watches with a frown as Burnie continues patiently teaching him. He can hear snatches of what the other man's saying - "That's right," and "Okay, good job," and "Just like that!" - his voice as gentle and encouraging as a fucking kindergarten teacher. It's not what he expected, but Burnie knows what he's doing. He always has, always will, and even when people think he's fucked something up it always somehow turns out exactly the way he intended. By this point, Michael trusts him - whatever the hell he’s playing at.

"No clue," he murmurs. Gavin's pushed his glasses up into his hair, and he keeps darting little, confused glances at Burnie.

His sudden shyness is not what Michael would ever have expected from him. Not after all their previous encounters, not when he was convinced Gavin couldn't give two shits about anyone else, content to pull his own jobs, bask in his own skills, see everyone else as beneath him. Never admit that maybe he doesn’t know everything there is to know about all things larceny.

He was clearly wrong, but there's something uncomfortable about how wide Gavin's eyes are as he looks at Burnie after every step - the relieved slump to his shoulders when he completes a second charge on his own and Burnie nods in approval, the little smile at the other man's, "See, like that! Great work."

It doesn't add up.

But before he can dwell on it, Geoff calls from the garage. 

“Michael! Burnie! Get your asses over here - let’s hurry up and come up with this plan.”

 

* * *

 

It's a good plan.

Gavin comes up with most of it, after spreading out a map of the entire base - a little compound outside the city, in an abandoned factory where they were doing a heap of construction before the money ran out. 

Their aim is to find out if the tank and drugs are in there - and deal with as many of the Lost as they can. They each have a clear job to do, simultaneously and as stealthily as possible.

Gavin will find the drugs, the tank, the heavy ordnance in the arms dealer's records, and steal it. 

Ryan will hunt down the Lost within the base, taking out any security.

And Michael - Michael will burn anything the Lost have on the Fakes and Gemini, and help Gavin with cleanup if need be.

They'll approach at night, in the kuruma, from the back of the compound. The vehicles are more for getaway than anything; Gavin's aiming to create a diversion in the nearby construction, a fire that can pass as an accident. They'll sneak in quietly and hopefully get out without alerting anyone. It's a guerrilla sort of hit, and stealth is still their best friend here.

There's some arguing about how they’ll split up once inside, but it's the best way to avoid detection. Gavin's meant to be out first, the one picking them up in the car afterwards - but Geoff vetoes that. There's too much potential for him to leave them in the lurch, so it's Michael who ends up tasked with that job, with keeping an eye on the Lost and making sure they get out clean.

Despite that - it's impressive, the way Gavin assigns them all a little sector of the base and maps out seamlessly timed movements. He's back to whispering, not looking at any of them as he explains - until Burnie makes a rather pathetic joke about the construction site and 'toppling their erection' that is as lame in context as out of it, and Geoff jokingly splashes whisky at him, and _that's_ what makes Michael and Ryan laugh - and even Gavin smiles a little too, then, seeming to ease up a bit as he glances between them.

It's not too bad working with him - even Michael has to grudgingly admit that. When the rest of the crew's around, he can pretend it's just another consultant, and not part of Gemini. Gavin's plan doesn't involve copious amount of murder - he leaves that in Ryan's hands, even just telling him to count how many are still in the base. Leaving him to deal with them how he likes.

_Kill them._ Even if he knows it's what they have to do, even if he hates them, even if he wants this over with...

Part of him still sees them as kids in his mind. Still sees them as some twisted old part of his family. It's stupid, because he long assumed most of them were dead anyway, but still-

But still-

_Don't be stupid. You said you wouldn't let your past compromise this job - you fucking promised yourself that none of this shit would matter. Let them die. They sure deserve it. And if you were still with them, you'd deserve it too._

_They’re not kids anymore._

Geoff hugs him again when they're about to leave. He seems uneasy, but Michael knows he believes in them - he just worries when people take jobs without the rest of the crew. Especially jobs like this.

"Remember what you're doing this for," he murmurs, and Michael looks into his kind, worried eyes and feels a sharp pang in his chest. He nods, and Geoff claps him on the shoulder before turning away.

Ryan's waiting by the kuruma outside. As soon as Michael emerges he clasps his hands in front of his chin and gives him his best puppy dog eyes. Michael can't help his laugh, the swell of fondness in his chest as he tosses Ryan the keys.

"Alright, you baby, you can drive it back."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm the one who gets to drive it on the job, so you can have your fun now."

Ryan fist-pumps before heading for the car, and Michael rolls his eyes as he turns away. Gavin's standing nearby, a little hunched and awkward, watching Burnie and Geoff talk inside the garage. Michael snaps his fingers at him and he jumps.

"Yo - we're going home now, unless you wanna stand here all day. I'm taking the old car, come on."

By the time they head out, Ryan's long gone, and Michael can only chuckle to himself at the thought of him taking the deliberately long route home. Gavin's staring thoughtfully out the window, but for once the silence doesn't feel too awkward. After a little while he swallows, and turns to Michael, hesitantly.

"Michael Burns..."

"He just goes by Burnie," Michael replies, raising an eyebrow. "What about him?"

"He was really nice."

There's something almost starstruck in Gavin's voice, and Michael has to snort.

"Yeah," he agrees, "He is. He knows what game he's playing and he's fucking good at it.  Earned all his respect, too, and not just through blood and violence."

"I can tell," Gavin murmurs, and bites his lip. Michael looks at him, and thinks of how patient Burnie was, and how Gavin flinched when he couldn't put the charge together. Something uncomfortable that he can't quite name stirs in the pit of his stomach.

"God, Gavin, with your reputation you could have your pick of who to work for in this city," he says. "Even Geoff was happy with your plan back there. Why the hell would you pick Clayton? He hasn't even got any territory of his own!"

Gavin's jaw clenches again, lips pursed like he's tasted something sour.

"What," Michael snaps after a moment - he's not so much annoyed with Gavin as... well, he is, but not for those reasons. Annoyed that the best thief in the city and one who looks up to Burnie would side against them. Annoyed that he's throwing away his fucking potential working for Gemini, of all people. Annoyed at how stupid it seems, how useless. "He do something bigger to impress you?"

"Clayton's never done anything impressive in his life," Gavin spits, with such vehemence that Michael lets out a shocked laugh.

"Jesus! Okay. Who is it then? The Hart twins?"

Gavin swallows. He doesn't answer, and when Michael looks over at him, his head's lowered and his hands twisted into the fabric of his jacket. He's so tense he's nearly shaking, and it's clear there's something he's not sharing here - but it doesn't feel like betrayal, no matter how convinced Michael was that this collaboration was a bad idea.

"Anyway," Michael says finally, when it becomes clear Gavin isn't gonna talk. "Up to you, dude. You make your choices. That's who you're known as now. Gemini's Shadow."

"I didn't come up with that name," Gavin mutters. "I don't like it much."

"Why?"

"Shadows don't have names or faces or personalities," Gavin says, his voice very tight. "They just belong to other people."

"Seems pretty fitting," Michael can't help saying - but that seems to piss Gavin off. He turns bodily away from Michael, rummaging in his backpack and yanking out his notebook, scribbling violently.

"I'm gonna revise the plan," he snaps, and sounds so properly annoyed that Michael almost feels bad. Part of him wants to just ignore Gavin, to let him sulk if he wants - but he just can’t drop it, and barely knows why.

“So what was your codename back in England, then?” he asks.

For a moment he thinks Gavin’s just gonna keep ignoring him, and tries not to think about why that makes him feel something too close to guilty. But then he grudgingly looks up.

“Didn’t have one,” he says, and scoffs a bit. “Very American - you and all your nicknames, making everything like a damn spy movie. I literally only see it in the crews over here.”

“But you did work for crews there. You must’ve, to get so good at what you do. Tell me about your best job,” he says on a whim. “We don’t know much about you except what you’ve done since you arrived in AC.”

Gavin’s side-eying him like he thinks this is some trap.

“Go on,” Michael urges. “Brag a bit. I know you want to.”

“You’ll call me arrogant, if I do,” Gavin mutters, and Michael has to grudgingly admit that’s true.

“If someone asks, it’s not arrogant,” he points out. “I’m curious. Go on, give me a good one.”

Gavin’s quiet for a moment, and Michael turns his attention back to driving. When Gavin does speak, it’s soft and tentative.

“Alright. This isn’t my _best_ job, but it’s a good story. I was hired - this was back when I worked freelance - to break into this rich bastard’s house. Real awful toff, some kid from old money, lived in a giant high-security mansion out in the country… one of those assholes who flaunts their wealth on instagram, right?”

“Ah yes, the instagram-rich. Worst kind out there.”

“An insult to photography, in my opinion,” Gavin mutters, and Michael lets out a startled laugh. “Anyway, I was told this guy had two million just lying around in his bedroom-”

“What, in _cash_?” Michael exclaims.

“No,” Gavin says, lips twitching, “In bitcoin, on a USB. The guy who tipped me off was his former best mate, till he discovered this guy was sleeping with his girlfriend. Real big drama all around, like something out of bloody Gossip Girl - I didn’t want to get involved. Said I’d get him the USB for a cut of the cryptocurrency, and he agreed. It took me a long time to plan. This guy was _careful_ , his house was heavily guarded, and his bedroom wasn’t in the ideal spot to break in, but I managed it. Took me a hell of a long time, involved a lot of setting traps for the guards, knocking them out with tranqs… if you’ve ever played Hitman, it was like that. Felt so cool.”

“Hitman!” Michael exclaims, and Gavin bristles a bit defensively.

“Used to be one of my favourite games,” he says. “A true masterpiece.”

“I’ll defer to your expertise when it comes to stealth shit. So after you so epically knocked all the guards out, you got into his room…?”

“Yep. Climbed through the window with a grappling hook and got inside.” He’s speaking a bit louder now, looks more animated than Michael’s ever seen him. “My God, you’ve never seen a bedroom like this guy’s. Bigger than my whole damn apartment. Spotlessly clean, too, since I’m assuming he had maids to pick up after him. This guy had a champagne fountain in the corner, a fucking hot tub in his ensuite bathroom - and across from his bed he had these giant, like, terrariums. One full of lizards, one this tropical aquarium, and one that has these three scorpions in it.”

“I have a feeling I know where this is going,” Michael says, and is rewarded with another of Gavin’s involuntary, squeaky little giggles. He glances at him, amused, but Gavin barely even seems to notice, too wrapped up in his story.

“Yep. I was like, no way. Fuck that. Searched the whole bedroom, trying to avoid it, but they’re not there. And then I look in the tanks and in the scorpion one there’s this little plastic chest in the bottom, and it’s the cleanest thing in the tank…”

“ _Shit_ , dude.”

“Yep. So I’m freaking out, thinking there’s no way I’m putting my hand in a damn scorpion tank, except I don’t have much time because the guards will wake up soon. So I have to use stuff in his bedroom to bloody Macgyver up this ridiculous scorpion-catching contraption - sort of like a hand-claw-thingy with a net on it - except there was no tape in the room so I had to tear up some of his shower curtain to tie the damn thing together. Long story short, it worked, and the USB was in there, and I took a picture of the scorpions to show my mate Dan, and I got out of there. Impressive, right?”

“Definitely,” Michael has to admit. He’d half think the story’s fake except the Fakes have pulled off such ridiculous heists themselves. “Sounds like something from a fucking action movie, dude.”

“Yeah,” Gavin says, and his lips twitch furiously, “Except when I got back and showed Dan he told me I was an idiot.”

“Why?”

“They weren’t scorpions.” His voice is thick, trying not to laugh. “They were bloody stick insects.”

“ _What_?” 

“Yeah! The ones with the curly tails and-”

“How the _fuck_ could you mistake stick insects for scorpions?”

“They were huge, Michael!” Gavin laughs. “They were so big, and really fat, and they didn’t look anything like sticks! They had these giant curled tails and with the adrenaline I-”

“But scorpions are _flat_!”

“What? No they’re not!”

“Yes they fucking are, and they have pincers! Did you just somehow fail to notice that there were no _pincers_?” Michael argues. “Oh my God, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve heard in my entire life. Jesus Christ.”  
  
“Look, in the heat of the moment I just assumed that if he was gonna hide it in one of those tanks it’d be the one with the deadliest animal inside it!” Gavin protests. He keeps sneaking glances at Michael, who can’t help his grin. It’s stupid, yeah, but it’s _funny_ , and such a ridiculous damn story, and so much like something _Geoff_ would do, the sort of thing they’d give him shit about for months.

“Your friend must’ve held that over you for ages,” he says, and is surprised when Gavin’s smile fades a little.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and looks away. “Yeah, he found it pretty damn funny.”

His excitement seems to fade as his story finishes; he huddles into himself again and Michael can only stare. It feels… weird, to be hanging out with him, to be _laughing_ with him, knowing who he works for. But for a moment, it felt like he caught a glimpse under Gavin’s shell - for a moment, he seemed just like Michael, young and wild and in this life of crime for the thrill of it, taking pride in his ridiculous adventures. Someone with friends to go home to, and share stories with. Someone who isn’t afraid to laugh at himself, to make fun of his own mistakes without taking himself too seriously.

It’s the total opposite of dressed-for-a-funeral, speak-only-when-spoken-to Free who lurks around their house like the Grim fucking Reaper. He tries to shake it off, but he can’t. Figured he’d _hate_ Gavin - but he has to admit that he doesn’t. He’s just - confused. _Curious_.

_Don’t get too close -_ but he can’t help but _wonder_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of a longer chapter that I split, so there'll bee a double-update; next one goes up Saturday morning (Sydney time) <3


	6. Chapter 6

**ix. all grown up**

_They have a routine, before every dangerous job. They braid each other’s hair._

_This is before the face paint, before the mask, before the Vagabond with his black skull.  Just two bounty hunters - partners in crime - Bonnie and Clyde. Wendy and Ryan._

_When you've known someone since childhood you get used to them. Ryan's memorised how her hair feels running through his fingers - her face as familiar in their bathroom mirror as his own. Two bodies, two shadows, always two of them, filling the same space, ready to have each other's backs, just like they have since they were kids on a playground together._

_They never kiss before a job. Not properly - but she'll kiss her fingers, and press them to his lips, and say with a smile, "Save it for later."_

_"Later," he murmurs, because there always is later, when they come back buzzing with adrenaline and covered in blood and grime. Except, of course, for the one time that there isn't-_

"Give them two more minutes," Gavin whispers. "Then we go in."

Ryan can still feel the tremors from where the construction toppled to the ground - can still see, against the night sky, the immense cloud of white dust mingling with smoke from the fire. Off by the side of the road, they'd watched the headlights of the cars speed by as the Lost went to investigate the disturbance.

Now they're finally ready to go in.

He turns to Michael, crouched next to him, and puts a hand on his back. He can feel how the other man is thrumming with nervous energy - more so than usual - but he turns at Ryan's touch, and smiles, and Ryan lifts the bottom of his mask and leans in and kisses him, the way he always does before a job. Just their routine.

"You alright?" Michael murmurs as they pull apart, and Ryan nods.

"Yeah. You?"

"'Course. Glad to finally get something done around here."

"One minute," Gavin says. He sounds awkward, in the backseat, trying not to look at them - but Ryan just takes a deep breath, and checks his gun, and a moment later they're stepping out of the car and into the night.

The compound looms ahead of them in the dark. Ryan remembers coming out here a few times before to test explosives. It seems the Lost moved in in the years between then and now - and they've really made themselves at home, with floodlights and barbed wire and God knows how many alarm systems. He takes a steadying breath - usually for a hit this big they'd have the others along, and probably a few snipers with them.

_Like Ray._ A wry smile. _Isn't that how we pulled off those other jobs, together? Was nice knowing someone had our backs._

But he tries not to think of that, nowadays, and lets the memory slip away like the wind.

Gavin doesn't seem fazed by the high wall, or the lights. He hefts his backpack on his shoulders and turns to them.

"I'll be one moment," he murmurs, and touches his earpiece. "Don't take these out."

He slips away into the darkness. Ryan tries to keep track of him, to watch how he's getting in - but in the dim light and with his black clothes he’s soon completely vanished, and all Ryan’s left with are the shuffling and rustling noises of him moving over the earpiece. 

He hears a soft thud as Gavin drops to the ground over the other side of the wall.

“I’m in,” he whispers. “There’s… one guy guarding the gate, but he’s distracted. Ryan, if you move further to the left into the bushes, you should be able to get a clear shot at him. He’s up on the wall, next to the floodlight. Line up the shot, then Michael will take out the light first. Once he’s down, I’ll open the gate for you.”

“Got it,” Ryan says. He glances at Michael and they seamlessly move deeper into the bushes, guns raised. He sees the man Gavin mentioned, his cigarette sending a thin trail of smoke up into the dark night sky, and lines up the shot. “Michael, when you’re ready.”

Michael fires, and takes out the floodlight. The second the world goes dark, Ryan shoots too, and hears the faint, crumpled _thud_ of the man’s body hitting the top of the wall.

Without the floodlight, everything’s pitch black. But a moment later, he hears the sound of the gate opening, and faint light spills out from inside the compound. He can see Gavin’s small, dark silhouette beckoning them, and they grab their guns and go.

“Most of them left to check out the construction site,” Gavin hisses as they approach. “I’ll get you through the back door then I’m going to check the storage units.”

Even with that assurance, Ryan still looks warily around as they approach the door. But there seem to be no more people on watch, and no alarms start blaring when Gavin picks the lock on the back door and snakes a thin arm in to let it off the chain.

“I’ll let you know what I find,” he says, and slips away back into the lot. Ryan and Michael glance at one another before entering and splitting up- Michael towards the communications room, Ryan to scope out the place.

They’re always strange, these stealth jobs. Ryan’s become perhaps a little too reliant on being the one who strides in guns blazing, expecting people to cower in fear of his mask. He’s not _scared_ , far from it - but it’s always a different feeling having to be quiet, having to be the one on the lookout for anyone else.

_If I encounter any of the Lost, I’ll kill them._ That’s been their plan all along, one even Gavin can’t argue with. Michael’s not said anything about it, but Ryan knows he’s aware of the necessity. 

He’d rather he be the one to do it than Michael.

He’s tight and focused as always as he heads down one of the factory corridors, his boots ringing out too loud in the quiet. It’s empty as a ghost town, dim lights showing the way. There should be a dormitory around here, if the blueprints he saw were right. He’s tense - but Michael’s steady breathing in his ear helps.

“I’m in the storage units,” Gavin whispers suddenly. “Shit, all those weapons are here. And the drugs, too, if I’m not mistaken. There’s a lot of them - heavy, too.”

“The tank?” Michael pipes up, quietly.

“No sign of it.”

Damn it - well, that’s some progress at least, and they can’t be keeping it too far from here.

“Gavin, get as much of it out of there as you can,” Ryan orders. “When Michael’s done, he’ll help you get it to the car.”

He sees a light up ahead - an open doorway leading into a kitchen. Sneaking forward, he catches sight of two people, talking quietly to one another over steaming mugs of some hot drink. One’s the woman he shot yesterday, her arm bandaged. The other’s a younger woman, with firey red hair pulled back in a braid, and at the sight of it Ryan falters because for a moment-

For a moment, it’s her, just as it has been countless times across a train platform or on the cover of a magazine-

For a moment there’s a flash of something sickeningly like _hope_ , and her name tries to escape his lips-

_Snap out of it_.

It’s stupid, and he shakes it off and raises his gun, and fires twice in quick succession.

“Took out two,” he grunts, and hears Michael give a little affirmative hum over the earpiece.

“I’ve found their office. I’m in their files - shit, they have a lot on us, Ryan. Looks like one of our old dealers sold us out.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes. I’m taking all of them. No wonder they could hunt down our contacts so well.”

“Take Gemini’s, too,” Gavin pipes up.

“Yeah yeah, I got it. Don’t get worked up.”

Ryan paces down another dark hallway. He’s jumpy, half-expecting something to emerge. Not just one of the crew, but a _girl_ , a memory, a shape in the darkness like he used to see around their flat; a jacket hanging in the cupboard suddenly taking a woman’s form, a shadow against his pillow looking like a slender arm. Anything red, at the corner of his eye, making his head snap around too-fast-

_Snap out of it, snap_ out _of it-_

“Michael, I need your help here,” Gavin says suddenly. “There’s too much for me to get out on my own - _shit_ , they’re coming back, I can see lights over the wall!”

“What?” Michael demands.

“We took too long! Fuck, fuck - we can still sneak out with this stuff, but I need you to hurry up and get here! I’ve dragged it all half-out of the shed, they’ll see someone’s been here as soon as they arrive!”

“I’m on my way,” Michael begins, and Ryan hears the quick shuffle of his footsteps - only for him to freeze. “Shit!”

“What is it?”

“It’s Dodger.” Michael’s voice has gone tight and strained, and Ryan freezes too, a chill running down his spine. “He’s in the next room. He hasn’t seen me.”

“Fuck,” Ryan says. “I’ll take care of him, Michael. He must be one of the last few left here in the base. You get out to Gavin-”

“Wait,” Michael chokes out, and Ryan can hear it, something in his voice, something that makes his gut twist. “Just a minute. You go help Gavin, I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Michael,” Ryan says, voice low and urgent. “ _Get out of there_.”

“Michael,” Gavin begins-

“Michael?” It’s Dodger’s voice, and Ryan hears the scrape of a chair, hears Michael’s footsteps. “What- how did you-”

“What the fuck is he doing?” Ryan hisses. “Michael, get _out_ of there, shoot him-”

“Hey, Dodge,” he hears Michael say, and curses. _Fuck_. This is not part of the fucking plan and Michael’s gonna get _hurt_ , gonna get _killed_ , and his heart rate is already picking up, his mind already clouding over with panic.

“What’s he doing?” Gavin hisses.

“He’s talking to him. Fuck.” Ryan turns on his heel and starts to run, heading for the communications room. “Michael, you-”

He breaks off as he hears Michael take the earpiece off and shove it in his pocket. The mic’s still picking up sound from his end, but Michael can’t hear him, and fuck. _Fuck_.

“Ryan,” Gavin pipes up. “I need you to come here right now and help me pack up this ordnance. If we can sneak out in the car we can still get out of here quietly, pull around to the front and pick up Michael without them being any the wiser-”

“Shut the fuck up, Gavin,” Ryan snaps. “I don’t care about the damn ordnance. He’s in trouble and I’m going to him.”

“They’ll know we’re here,” Gavin says, a flash of something like panic in his voice, “I have nowhere to-”

“Take care of it yourself. I told you before, he’s my priority.” He charges off down the corridor, needing to just _get to Michael_ , to save him, as soon as he can-

( _Can’t you save her, Ryan? What if you could move? What if you had all the time in the world?)_

“Been a long time,” he hears Michael say. His voice is shaking a little. “You gave me a hell of a shock back at that house.”

“How did you get in here?” Dodger’s voice comes, dim and a little muffled. He doesn’t sound angry. “Are you alone?”

“You talk, first,” Michael replies. “What are the Lost doing in AC? This is far out of your territory.”

There’s a long silence. But then Dodger speaks again, louder this time. Closer to Michael.

“We got run out of Jersey a coupla years back. New lot swept in with more guns and manpower. We couldn’t compete.”

“So Kant thought the Fakes’ territory was ripe for the taking, huh?”

“What? Michael, Kant’s dead,” Dodger says, and Ryan hears Michael’s sharp intake of breath. “He’s been dead for years.”

Another long silence. It’s Dodger who speaks again, next, and his voice is thick.

“Didn’t even go out in a blaze of glory or anything. Pancreatic cancer. No symptoms until it was too damn late. We nursed him, all of us. He died at the base, holding my hand. Surrounded by his family. Pretty fucking peaceful way to go, considering, but… he was struggling to the end. Never did know when to give up.”

“Jesus,” Michael breathes.

“He talked about you, towards the end. Talked about all the kids he’d lost. Fuck, we thought you were dead, Michael. I searched for you for days. Thought for sure you’d crashed your bike, or got picked up by the police - every body we found in a ditch, every corpse that washed up in the bay, we always went to check if it was you. You could’ve at least left a note! My little brother just fucking disappeared one night - how the hell do you think I dealt with it?”

“I had to go. You _know_ I had to go-”

“ _Why_? Because you didn’t like the killing? Don’t make me laugh. Michael. You’re _Mogar_ now, aren’t you? Ramsey’s wolf, his firestarter. You burn things to the ground for him. You kill side by side with the Vagabond. You’re no better here than you were back in Jersey-”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, what Geoff’s like,” Michael spits. “It’s _different_ here and I _offered_ , Dodge, I gave you the chance to bail out with me-”

“Bail out on what?” Dodger yells. “Our family? Our father?”

“Pete was _not our fucking father!”_

Ryan’s nearly there now - he can see, up ahead, the staircase leading to the floor Michael’s on. He takes them two at a time, nearly tripping - only to freeze when he hears gunshots over the earpiece.

It’s not Michael. He realises that quickly - they’re coming from Gavin’s end, and he can hear the other man’s running footsteps.

“Get back here!” a shrill voice yells, and he hears Gavin’s breath catch-

But he’s nearly to Michael, and he continues on, listening to the ragged breathing of the two men as they face off.

“He _raised_ you,” Dodger says, something pleading and pained in his voice. “He fed us. He clothed us. He gave us _everything_ our own parents never did. Don’t you remember? He gave me language, Michael, when I was just some idiot street kid who could barely speak English. He taught you to read, when you were just a stupid little pickpocket. When there was no one there for us, he took us in and made us his _family_. You were a brother to me, to all of us, and you just threw it away like it was nothing! For what? To join a bigger crew? I suppose Ramsey could offer you more, is that right?”

“Can’t you _see_ what he did to us?” Michael demands, and he’s so angry his voice is shaking, but Ryan can tell he’s scared, too. Can tell Dodger’s words have managed to hit him deep. “We were _children_ , Ben! We were just little kids and he used us because we were too reliant on him to say no! He made us steal and… and _kill_ and for what? So _he_ could become more powerful? Make no mistake, he didn’t care about us. He just wanted to use us, because we were easy pickings.”

“Is that all it’s about?” Dodger asks, and he’s even closer now, his voice perfectly clear despite how low and quiet it is. “The killing?”

Over the earpiece, Gavin gives a cry of pain that makes Ryan jump.

“Because,” Dodger continues, “You really seemed to _enjoy_ it at the time.”

Michael’s breath hitches. Gavin’s gun fires, _bang, bang, bang_ , and Ryan hears him scrambling away from something, gasping in hitching near-sobs.

“You used to make the biggest, bloodiest mess of all of us. Or have you conveniently forgotten that part? That you were his right-hand boy, his deadliest assassin. His _Hook_.”

Ryan reaches the door and skids to a halt. The two of them are standing, nearly chest-to-chest in a little office room - Michael’s face pale, teeth bared as he glares up at Dodger, the other man staring down at him, shoulders hunched and nearly shaking with anger-

But then Dodger’s phone starts buzzing, breaking the silence, and in an instant Michael kicks him in the stomach. He falls back with a grunt and Michael whirls around and sees Ryan. He freezes, their eyes meeting for a moment - Michael’s huge, and filled with something like guilt. He steps towards him-

Only to lurch back when Dodger grabs him, trying to drag him down to the floor with him. His face knocks against the edge of the table, and Ryan raises his gun instinctively and fires - Dodger falls back with a yell, clutching his shoulder, and Michael kicks him free and stumbles to join him. Ryan grabs him, pulling him out of the room - he can hear too much from outside, gunfire and yelling, and they’re outnumbered by now. They have to get out of here, even if he wants nothing more than to turn around and finish the asshole off. With any luck he’ll bleed out.

“Ryan,” Michael gasps - he’s clutching at him and Ryan steadies him. The sight of him alive and well is a relief he hasn’t quite wrapped his head around yet - his heart’s still slamming hard enough to hurt, and he’s still so scared he feels sick.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” he snaps, pausing and clasping Michael’s cheeks, frowning at the blood dripping from his mouth where his lip split against the table - the other man stares at him, a bit vacantly, before shaking himself. Ryan’s glaring at him, so furious he can barely think straight, and after a moment Michael pulls free.

“Where’s Gavin?” he snaps, fumbling to put his earpiece back in.

“Shit,” Ryan hisses, remembering - he tries to focus on what he can hear through the comm, but it’s just heavy breathing and vague shouting. “Free? Where are you?”

He hears Gavin swallow. When he speaks, his voice is tight.

“Outside,” he whispers. “Hiding in the bushes. I managed to get out, but they’re looking for me. You’ll have to leave through the side and circle around. They haven’t seen the car yet. They think I’m still in the compound.”

“They’ll know we are too, in a minute,” Ryan mutters, and sighs. “Come on. Let’s leave, quickly.”

There’s a tense silence as the two of them run through the factory. Behind them they hear doors opening and slamming shut - hear exclamations of surprise, presumably as the bodies are found - but no one catches up to them, and before long they’re out the side door and climbing over the gate, slinking away into the darkness and picking their way around the compound towards the back lot, where they left the kuruma.

The more the panic fades, the more _angry_ Ryan is. He doesn’t want to be, but - how could Michael _do that_? How could he so willingly just stride into danger, knowing Ryan was listening, knowing what’s at stake here - knowing what these people can do?

They reach the shrubbery around the back.

“Where are you?” Michael asks, and the blue glow of a phone screen lights up in the bushes nearby. They crawl over to find Gavin sitting in the dirt, huddled and hunched in on himself. He flinches when they approach, and barely looks at Ryan before turning to Michael.

“You okay?” he asks, and Michael looks startled.

“I… yeah. Didn’t get hit. You hurt somewhere?” he demands - Gavin’s arms are wrapped around himself, and when he struggles to his feet he stumbles, Michael quickly hopping up to steady him.

“Nothing life threatening,” Gavin replies, but his voice is strained. “Got grazed when they fired at me, and the barbed wire cut me up climbing over in the dark. Then I fell from the wall into the bushes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Didn’t have much choice,” Gavin adds, stiffly. “I couldn’t pack all that stuff up on my own and I couldn’t get it back inside before they returned. So now we have no weapons, no drugs, and what - three people dead out of a few dozen?”

Ryan clenches his jaw. It’s clearly a jab aimed at him, but he doesn’t want to fight about it right now. Michael stands for a moment - breathing heavily, taking it in. Then he turns and takes Gavin’s arm, helping him towards the car, not so much as glancing at Ryan.

“Let’s go home,” he grunts.

* * *

By the time they get back to the safe house Ryan has worked himself into a state of utter fury. He’s trembling, hard, and the what-ifs won’t stop running through his head. What if he’d been too late? What if Dodger had shot Michael? What if he’d pulled out a knife and slit his throat when he grabbed him? What if he hadn’t gotten there in time, and Michael had been caught, and held for ransom, and there would’ve been nothing he could fucking _do._

He slams the door open and marches into the sitting room, ripping his mask off his face and throwing it aside. Michael stomps in after him.

Oh, he’s just as angry - Ryan can see it right away. His eyes are blazing, his fists clenched. He’s shaking too.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he demands, and Ryan starts laughing, harshly.

“Excuse me? What was _I_ doing? What the hell were _you_ doing?” he spits, and steps towards Michael, pointing furiously. “Our plan was to kill them or get out quietly, not fucking walk right up to one to have a heart-to-heart-”

“I was fine, Ryan!” Michael snaps. “I knew him, and I was handling it! I had to talk to him, I had to _know_ what they wanted here-”

“You didn’t _have_ to do anything-”

“I told you to go and help Gavin out and you just fucking left him there!” Michael yells. “He nearly got killed because of you, and now guess what? They still have all their explosives and guns, they still have all their drugs, and we accomplished practically _nothing-_ ”

“ _You_ were meant to be out there helping Gavin!” Ryan snarls. “Because of _your_ stupidity I had to go and _collect_ you-”

“You didn’t have to-”

“I _did_!” Ryan cries, and his voice cracks a little even if he doesn’t want it to. “I _did_ , and you fucking know it!”

There’s a tense silence, both of them breathing heavily. Ryan stares into Michael’s eyes - they’re red and upset, and he can see how the other man’s confrontation with Dodger was like a fucking sledgehammer slamming into him, all over again - breaking fragile things that were pieced together over years of slow healing, shattering him once again, leaving him scattered and unsure of himself.

He feels like he’s been hit with one himself. Feels like every old fear, every helpless nightmare has struck him again. He’s on the verge of tears before he even knows it.

By the side of the room, Gavin sits down abruptly. He must’ve sidled in at some point, and when Ryan looks at him he turns his head away. He looks awkward, and scared, and clearly doesn’t want to get in the middle of whatever this is. Now that they’re in the light Ryan can see how his face is smeared with blood and dirt, thin scratches covering his cheeks, the lens of his sunglasses cracked. He’s as much a mess outside as the two of them are inside.

“You know I did,” he whispers, and turns away, shoulders shaking, trying to pull himself together a bit.

He hears Michael suck in a deep breath.

“I had to talk to him,” the other man says finally, his voice very tight. “When I saw him, Ryan, I just… we used to be so _close_. I couldn’t just leave him. I couldn’t just kill him. I had to confront him-”

“There were better times than right then,” Ryan snaps. “We could’ve talked to him _together_. In the middle of a fucking job, Michael? Didn’t you even stop to think what that’d do to me?”

“No, Ryan, I didn’t,” Michael fires back, “Because this is shit that hits me hard me, too!” And then, after a moment, “Don’t you trust that I can take care of myself? Do you think I’m stupid, that I’m too close to this-”

“Yes, Michael,” and it tears out of him before Ryan can stop it, “I think you’re too close to this. I think you’re compromised, and I don’t think you should’ve been on this job. You should’ve listened to Geoff, and let Jeremy come instead.”

Michael rears back like he’s been slapped. Ryan’s words are harsh, cruel, and he can’t _stop_ them.

“You could’ve gotten us all killed changing the plan like that,” he continues. “And I don’t doubt that if you’d had to shoot that man, you would have hesitated.”

“ _You_ nearly got _Gavin_ killed,” Michael tries, a weak attempt at diverting things, but Ryan waves a hand.

“I don’t give a shit about Gavin,” he snaps. “I thought you were in danger, Michael, I thought-”

“You thought I was weak and pathetic and about to get myself killed, yeah, I’m getting that loud  and clear. Fuck you, Ryan.”

“Fuck you more, you asshole. I thought you knew better than that.”

Ryan turns away. There’s a lump welling in his throat, and he doesn’t _want_ to be angry. He wants to hug Michael tight, and make sure he’s okay, and talk about all the shit that he and Dodger said, and tell him about the girl with the red hair and how he _still_ sometimes thinks he’ll turn a corner and see her. He’s furious because he’s _scared_ , because tonight he knows he’ll have nightmares where it’s Michael on his knees with a gun to his head, and he knows Michael’s only angry because he’s scared, too.

But he can’t let it all out; it chokes up in his throat and makes his eyes burn with tears. 

Both of them are silent for a moment, frozen. Then Gavin rises - as quietly as possible - and very awkwardly shuffles out of the room. Ryan sinks down on the couch, fists clenched, trembling. He wants to hit something, he wants to throw a glass against the wall, get the energy out somehow, burst the bubble in his chest that feels like it’s building up and pressing against his lungs, making it hard to draw a proper breath. He wants to work off the heaviness that’s settled on his shoulders, the dead weight that seems strapped to his back.

But he _can’t_ \- he can only sit there, eyes squeezed shut, as he hears Michael quietly leave the room, too.

“God damn it,” he whispers, and weakly hits at one of the cushions next to him. He throws himself down and buries his head in his arms. “God damn it, God damn it, God damn it-”

The grief is a crushing pressure against all parts of him; it squeezes from his throat, his nose, his eyes, burning everywhere it comes out. Every time he thinks he’s beaten it back, it returns when he least expects it. He keeps expecting a ghost touch against his back, a soft hand in his hair, a whisper in his ear. 

_I miss you._ They’re words he tries not to think because they always make him cry. _I miss you so fucking much._

_I can’t lose him, too._

The pillow’s wet against his face. He can’t stop crying, silent, shaking sobs that seem like they’ll never stop, and he’s glad the others aren’t there to see. Doesn’t think he can look at either of them right now-

Doesn’t want to admit that maybe it wasn’t just Michael, back there, who was compromised.

* * *

 

**x. dismantle, rebuild**

_Three years after his first kill, and three years before he runs away, Michael is a devil with a sickle-shaped knife._

_He remembers a dark night in a moonlit warehouse, he and Dodger circling their terrified prey, young and bloodthirsty and lethal - keeping him on his knees as Kant, standing in the shadows nearby, questions him. Where are the drugs? How many? Who else is in your crew? How much can you give us? His wide eyes flicker between the three of them, unsure who's the most dangerous, who he should be most afraid of-_

_(Michael, Michael is the most dangerous, Michael whose fingers clench eagerly around the hilt of his blade-)_

_"Not good enough," Kant says finally. "Take his hands, first-"_

Michael's fist slams against the wall, one, two, three times. 

"Fuck," he hisses out between clenched teeth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck it!"

He slumps to the ground, his knuckles split and a dent in the wall just above the head of the bed. Pulls his lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on and off, on and off, watching how the firelight dances across his bloody hands, trembling until the pent-up rage dies away a little, lost in the calm of the flickering flame.

The pain sets in soon after. His lip's swelling, and his hand hurts, and he needs the first aid kit. It's in the other bathroom - he rises, and leaves the room. The rest of the house is silent. He doesn't know where Ryan is. Doesn't want to know - he's furious, and knows it's his own pain rather than anger at the other man, but after their fight he doesn't want to see him, not just yet.

The bathroom door's shut. He can hear a faint, pained whimpering from the other side, and when he hammers on it there's a gasp, and the sound of breaking glass.

"Jesus," Michael exclaims. "The fuck?"

"Shit - you startled me, sorry! I dropped a cup," Gavin's voice rings out from the other side, shaky and nervous, and Michael abruptly remembers his injuries. His anger dulls a little, replaced by something almost concerned.

"Let me in," he says. "I need the first aid kit."

There's a pause- then the door creaks open. Gavin slinks back immediately, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and sliding back against the wall. Michael marches in, kicking a towel over the broken glass on the floor. When he glances at Gavin he freezes. His shirt's hanging off one shoulder and it looks like he's been trying rather unsuccessfully to stitch up a deep gash on his arm with his non-dominant hand. He's made an awful mess of it, blood drying in rivets all over his skin, eyes pricked with tears from the pain, and something awful tugs deep in Michael's chest.

"Fucking hell, dude," he says. "Let me."

Gavin lifts his good hand when Michael starts towards him, eyes widening.

"I can do it," he says quickly, and Michael scowls.

"Why would you not just say yes?" he asks, only to stop when Gavin puts a hand out again. "What, you scared of me?"

The very words make him feel hot and ashamed - _scared of me like everyone else is, Michael the monster, Michael who’s got so much fucking blood on his hands that everyone can see it, can practically smell it, you reek, boy, you’re a killer and we all know it-_

Gavin swallows.

"You're angry," he says softly, and his eyes flick to Michael's bloody hand. "You've been hitting something. Calm down."

Michael realises how he's pressed to the wall, and something sick rises in his throat. He forces himself to step back, to make himself smaller, and sees how Gavin's chest heaves in relief. There's something ugly about it, something that makes him not want to look in the mirror, scared of what the look in his eyes might be.

He takes a deep breath.

"I'd feel better if you let me patch you up," he says, softer. "Seeing as it's somewhat my fault you got into this mess."

He meets Gavin's eyes, and after a moment he nods minutely. Michael steps towards him and takes his arm gently, grabbing scissors from the first aid kit to cut away the botched stitching. Gavin turns his head away, avoiding looking at the mess. He’s trembling, but Michael doesn’t comment.

"It's not your fault," Gavin whispers after a moment. "Ryan made it very clear he would prioritise your safety over mine." He scoffs a little. "Least I know he's a man of his word."

"He shouldn't have," Michael replies. "But I know why he did. Don't take it personally. He'd freak out if something happened to me."

"That must be nice," Gavin murmurs. "Having someone who cares so much about you."

"It is," Michael has to admit, even if he is still pissed at Ryan. He nods for Gavin to take his shirt off - Gavin pulls open the rest of the buttons, hissing as he manoeuvres out of it. Michael winces in sympathy. Aside from the graze on his arm, he's covered in deep scratches, flesh punctured in a few places where he must've scrambled over the barbed wire. His side's badly bruised where he hit the ground, though nothing seems broken - what strikes Michael are the older bruises, greenish in the last few stages of healing, over his ribs and stomach. Around his throat.

"What happened there?" he asks, as he threads a new needle.

"Fell off my bike," Gavin replies flatly.

"Your bike have hands?" Michael demands, pointing at the marks low on his neck - Gavin's arm rises automatically to cover them.

"Got in trouble on a job. It happens," he says, shrugging. "Usually just patch myself up."

Michael eyes him as he moves forward and takes his arm.

"No friends in Gemini's crew, huh?"

Gavin's lips twist.

"Not my sort of people. We're not close like your lot are."

"Sucks," Michael mutters. He starts stitching and Gavin's breath catches a little, but he doesn't pull away as Michael keeps patching him up, efficiently. He's been doing this since he was a kid - he's good at it, by now.

Gavin keeps glancing at him. He seems to want to say something, but looks nervous. Michael can't stand the dithering, or the silence.

"Go ahead," he says - Gavin looks embarrassed. "I won't shout."

"I heard what you and Dodger were talking about, over the earpiece," Gavin says quietly. "You're right, you know. What you did back then, it wasn't your fault. You were only a kid and... adults should've been taking care of you, not training you to fight and kill. That’s just… fucked up, what happened to you. It shouldn’t have. Don't let him get in your head about it. He can't see, but you did, and you got out of there. The things you do when someone's forcing you to... they're not your fault. They aren't."

Michael's first instinct, embarrassed at the sympathy, is to snap at him. To tell him he doesn't know shit and no one asked for his opinion - but he stops himself. Takes a deep breath. Lets himself accept it.

"Appreciate it," he says finally, "But it's hard not to think that when I remember everything I did. Everyone I hurt. I was... _abhorrent."_

"Michael-"

"I was," he says sharply. "No need to sugarcoat it."

"But you escaped," Gavin urges, something almost desperate in it. "You got out of there and changed - that means something."

"I hope it does," Michael manages, and sighs.  He works in silence for a moment, focused on his stitching - trying to be gentle. Gavin's shoulder, under his hand, is rough with ropy scars, same as all of them in this business.

"Do you and Ryan fight often?" Gavin asks tentatively.

"Hardly ever, actually," Michael replies. Once he might not have answered - now he finds that he wants to talk. Needs some sort of distraction, tonight. To share something nice. "Usually only over big things. He's right to be pissed," he admits, grudgingly. "I know why he was scared."

"He loves you a lot," Gavin murmurs. "He wants to keep you safe. I'd want to as well, if I was marrying someone."

Michael's head snaps up.

"What?" he demands.

"Oh," Gavin says, and looks terribly embarrassed. "I... I saw the ring around his neck today when he had his shirt off... I assumed it was yours."

Michael feels a wave of awkward almost-guilt.

"No," he mutters. "It's not mine."

Gavin's got an _oh-shit_ sort of look on his face, and Michael quickly continues, "It's a past relationship. That's why he gets so scared. He doesn't want to lose me."

"That sucks," Gavin murmurs, "I'm sorry."

"It's why he's so paranoid." God, Michael doesn't know why he's telling him all this- just that he's frustrated, and he rarely gets to talk about it, and sometimes it's easier with someone who doesn't know him. Who doesn't know Ryan. "I would be, too, if it happened to me. I'm the first person he dated since he lost her."

"Really?" 

"Yeah." He ties the thread, snaps it off. "Takes a lot for him to open up to someone new. Just me and... and one other, but that didn't work out."

"Wait," Gavin says, confused. "You mean you broke up at one point then got back together?"

"No, I mean there were three of us." He sees Gavin's eyes widen, and scoffs out a laugh. "Kind of. Not really. Like I said- it didn't work out."

"Oh." Gavin chews his lip, thoughtfully, as Michael passes him an antiseptic wipe and frowns at the barbed wire injuries. They look like they hurt like a bitch - Gavin's gonna have an uncomfortable next few days with those.

"He doesn't trust easily," he repeats, "So like I said, don't take it personal. Even if it'd been someone from our crew out there, he probably still would've gone after me."

“But it makes it easier that it was me,” Gavin mutters, looking down to carefully stick a bandage over the wounds on his abdomen. “I’m Gemini - who cares? Easier if I cark it. Less work for you later on.”

“Don’t say that,” Michael snaps. Once he might’ve agreed, but - it’s just horrible to think of that suddenly. Little Gavin with his big green eyes, pale and dead. Even if he is Gemini - Michael thinks suddenly of bodies torn apart, of bleeding mutilated forms. Sitting there on the edge of the tub, Gavin looks very small.

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” Gavin points out. “After this we’ll part ways and then it’s back to fighting over Eastside.”

He starts pulling his shirt back on, and Michael can only stare at him. After telling him all this - after eating pizza together, and sharing stories, and seeing Gavin’s stupid cat doodles - it seems unreal that he’s gonna leave and they’ll be enemies again. And it’s only been three days - what about after three weeks?

Gavin turns, and sees him looking. His lips twist.

“Nothing changes,” he says.

“Nothing changes if no one does anything,” Michael shoots back. “If you act, there’s change. If no one acts, nothing.”

He isn’t sure what he wants - for Gavin to leave Gemini, or full-on turn on them, or go to work for Burns - no fucking clue. But Gavin just stands there, shoulders hunched over the sink as he washes his face. Suddenly Michael notices too much. Like how the lines of his body are too sharp, shoulder blades prominent through the thin fabric of his shirt, and in the fluorescent light the bags under his eyes look massive.

“Petrified,” Gavin says suddenly.  
  
“What?”

“It means to become like stone.” Gavin turns the water off but stands for a moment, staring into his own eyes in the mirror, not looking at Michael. “It means when you’re so scared you can’t move.”

Michael can only stare at him, unsure what he means - but after a moment Gavin shakes himself, and steps back, reaching to grab his jacket.

“Thanks for patching me up, Michael. Really. It means a lot. More than you know.” He smiles, a little shyly. “I need to sleep. In the morning we’ll come up with a new plan. We’ll work this out.”

Michael nods, and Gavin leaves quietly. He’s left alone, staring down at his bloodied fists, feeling dazed and confused. 

_What was that all about?_

More than ever he has no idea what to think. He feels awkward, suddenly, about spilling Ryan’s secrets. Awkward about how he too must’ve looked so vulnerable back there. But Gavin - Gavin confuses him, and he doesn’t know what to believe here, and feels more lost than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w: Gore/graphic violence (not inflicted on a main character)

**xi. bad decisions**

_Clayton says he saved him a lot, and sometimes Gavin almost believes it._

_Sometimes he thinks about how he ended up in this mess, and every time it boils down to being his fault, right? His own fucking stupidity._

_He's a thief. If you break in somewhere, if you get caught - you face the consequences. That's the choice you make, when you decide to steal._

_And it was his decision, wasn't it - to bail on Hanson's crew halfway through a job, to sabotage their operation and end up with a price on his head-_

_(Even if you couldn't stay with them, not after how much collateral damage they were causing, not after the fire and the deaths and seeing so many innocent faces on the news-)_

_It was his decision to go to America-_

_(Even if you were dead meat otherwise, even if Hanson started sending you phone calls describing exactly what he was gonna do to you and you were scared, you were scared and you had to get out-)_

_It was his decision to turn right across that bridge instead of left, to enter Gemini's territory instead of the Fake AH Crew's, to rob a hideout not knowing it was one of theirs-_

_(Even if you didn't know any of it back then, didn't know who ran the city, who anyone was, who you were messing with-)_

_“I saved your God damn life,” Clayton will say, with a hand in his hair twisting and pulling until his eyes water, so close Gavin can smell the stale cigarettes on his breath, “You know what they would have done to you otherwise? Your_ life _is_ mine _. Anything I give you is better than what would have happened, so don't you fucking forget it-”_

"You're always the first one up."

The voice makes Gavin jump a little. He'd been staring into the sizzling frying pan, lost in a daze, and now he snaps out of it and becomes aware of the sun, risen now and warming his face through the window. The eggs, beginning to burn a little in the spitting oil in front of him. His whole body aches, sore from yesterday’s injuries.

And Ryan - standing in the kitchen doorway watching him.

He stiffens automatically, even if Ryan doesn't looks particularly scary. He must've gone to sleep with his hair in a braid, but it's now sticking out every which way in ridiculous tufts that frame his face strangely. He's wearing an old t-shirt and pajama pants, and his face still has a few smudges of paint on it. There are dark wells under his eyes, a shadow on his chin where he hasn't shaved. It should be hard to be scared of someone with bare feet.

But Ryan hates him, and that's enough for Gavin to be afraid of him. He thought he'd be the one who might see through him- the Vagabond's meant to be perceptive, after all, and at first Ryan was the one who let him come to stay in the house. Who didn't yell at him as much. Who he connected with, if only briefly, in the dead of the night that one time.

But not any more.

Now Ryan's the one who doesn't trust him, who suspects he'll put them in danger, who clearly couldn't give two fucks whether Gavin makes it out of things alive or dead. Maybe if he hadn't fucked up that first time and put Michael in danger - maybe if he hadn't run his stupid mouth and accidentally made himself sound like a threat.

But he's convinced Ryan loathes him - and it's Michael, now, who's made the effort to get to know him. Michael who was so blatantly hostile at first - but who laughed at his story and invited him to eat with them and patched his wounds up-

It's all put his head in a spin and left him frightened and wary.

"Sorry?" he blurts out.

"You're always up first," Ryan continues. His voice is low and flat, arms folded, and Gavin's hand tightens around the spatula. "What are you up so late doing every night?"

Gavin swallows. There's a test in here, somewhere, and Ryan's watching him too closely. He doesn't know what he's meant to say.

"Working," he manages, finally. "There are still three other jobs Clayton has me planning for."

Ryan's eyebrow rises.

"Seriously? Thought we were all meant to be focusing on this."

"I am," Gavin stammers, bracing himself to be shouted at for being distracted, for not giving this his all, for Ryan to blame him for every job failing so far, "I've been putting this one first, just - I want to get a head start on the others, too. So I do them after I've finished everything else. I'm still focused, I just-"

"Christ, okay. Don't work yourself up. Your eggs are burning."

Gavin lets out a slow breath as Ryan walks past him to turn the kettle on. The other man's movements are slow, lethargic, and Gavin wonders how much sleep he got last night. As far as he knows, Ryan crashed on the couch at some point after the rest of them went to bed.

He scoops the eggs out onto a plate and glances shyly at Ryan's back. It's hard to work up the nerve to talk to him; he has to count down from ten three times before he can bring himself to open his mouth.

"I, um, cooked breakfast for all of us."

Ryan turns, slowly, and Gavin lowers his head - but the other man just eyes the eggs suspiciously before reaching into the cutlery drawer and passing Gavin some tongs to cut it up with.

"I smell something nice," Michael's voice rings out as he wanders in from the sitting room - Gavin jumps at his voice, but finds himself relaxing when the other man enters the room. He's surprised to find he's glad to see him. It's scary being alone with Ryan - and after last night, he feels just slightly better about being around Michael.

The rumours were right. He doesn't think the Fakes are bad people. Oh, they hate _him_ of course, but in the scheme of things - it’s clear that Ryan cares for his crew, and that Michael, under the anger and shouting, can be kind. Gentle.

And both of them so terribly, terribly _broken_ \- he may not know the full story, but God, even just what he’s heard of it… what happened to Michael was fucked up, and he can’t imagine how hard it must be having to relive it all. To face his past again. If some of the people Gavin used to know in England popped up back in his life, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t handle it.

“Gavin’s made eggs,” Ryan replies. He glances at Michael and his shoulders hunch up, awkward, before he shuffles out into the sitting room with his mug. Clearly the two of them haven’t made up since yesterday’s feud, and Gavin’s stomach twists.

_What if they keep fighting? You’ll get caught in the middle._

_They might both turn on you._

_Even if they don’t - they’ll be pissed off. They’ll have no patience. They might start throwing things or God knows what else._

Michael glances after Ryan, then sighs. He turns to Gavin and his lips twist into a small smile. Gavin tentatively smiles back.

Michael looks exhausted. It’s no surprise he didn’t sleep well, after everything. Seeing how tired and strained he looked makes Gavin suddenly sad. He keeps thinking about a young Michael, with his round face and red curls. Just a kid. Made a killer.

“Should probably go make up with him, huh?” Michael says, with a wry grin.

Gavin’s surprised he’s asking him - but he nods.

“Neither of you meant what you said last night,” he tries, softly.

“Oh, he meant it,” Michael says. “I put myself in danger. And I’d do it again - I had to speak with Dodger, he… he’s right about one thing, he _was_ my brother once. He was my family. But of course Ryan’s angry. I scared him badly. I’d be mad, too.”

There’s a pause. Michael looks over at Gavin’s cooking, and frowns.

“Why’d you cook for everyone?” he demands. “You should be the one having a rest after last night!”

Gavin looks away. How can he say that he was scared of using their food if he didn’t make something for them, too? He doesn’t answer - just chops up the omelette and passes two plates to Michael. The other man takes it gratefully - but pauses, looking Gavin up and down with furrowed brows.

“How are you doing today?” he asks, gruffly. “Not too sore?”

Gavin’s surprised he bothered to ask. But he nods, and smiles a bit.

“I’m okay,” he says, automatically. His ribs ache, and the wounds from the barbed wire pull every time he moves too much - but he’s had worse. God, he’s had a _lot_ worse.

“Don’t push yourself,” Michael says. “We need to hit them back hard, so we’re gonna need everyone in top shape.”

Gavin nods, and watches Michael go out to Ryan. The other man’s sitting on the couch, leaning forward and staring into his coffee cup like it holds the secrets of the universe. Gavin stands by the counter, picking at his own food and sneaking glances at the two of them now and then, unable to help listening in.

Michael sets the plate in front of Ryan and then stares at the side of his head until he finally turns.

“Hi,” he says, and Ryan snorts a bit.

“Good morning.”

“Don’t think either of us slept well, huh?” Michael asks, tilting his head. “You stay out here?”

“Didn’t want to disturb you,” Ryan admits, rubbing his back. Michael frowns.

“You wouldn’t have been,” he says, and touches Ryan’s arm softly. “I’m sorry. I know I scared you - badly. This situation just… it has me all mixed up.”

“Sorry I shouted at you,” Ryan replies. He looks relieved.

“You’re right about one thing,” Michael says, and takes a deep breath. “I am compromised. And I probably wouldn’t have been able to kill Dodger - not right then, anyway. But I still have to be here, Ryan. I can’t just _go_.”

“I know,” Ryan admits. “And I didn’t mean you were weak, before. We plan the jobs better from now on, okay? Stick together when we’re around them.”

Michael nods. He takes Ryan’s hand and they sit for a moment, heads close. After a moment Michael says, quietly, “You okay?”

Ryan takes a shaky breath.

“When I was in there,” he admits, “I killed one of them. A woman with red hair. For a second I - I thought it was her.”

“Oh God, Ryan.”  
  
“It’s _stupid_ ,” he says, frustrated. “It’s been five fucking years, I shouldn’t… but that’s why I freaked out on you. I just - keep seeing it happen again, over and over in my head. I know it’s ridiculous, that in our job nothing’s ever _safe_ , but-”

He breaks off, and Gavin can see even from here the way Michael’s shoulders hunch guiltily.

“I’m sorry, “ he says again. “I shouldn’t have made it worse for you.”

“No, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Ryan says, “When you were already upset.”

“I’m not mad at _you_ ,” Michael assure him. “I’m just - angry at everything. It sucks. I don’t want to fight, not with you.”

“Me either.”

He rests his head on Michael’s shoulder and they sit for a moment, fingers tangled together, clearly reassured that there are no hard feelings.

Gavin turns away, focusing on eating his breakfast. Something close to jealousy is building up in his chest. That the other two are so close. That they’re safe. That they love each other so much, and have someone to rely on and talk to and who’s so determined to protect them. He’s never had that, never had _anyone_ looking out for him - except perhaps Dan, who he misses dearly.

_He probably thinks you’re dead_. It’s been over a year since they talked, and there’s no way Gavin would dare cross Clayton trying to contact him. _Dead or ignoring him. Maybe he thinks you believe you’re too good for him, now that you’re in AC pulling all these heists, if he’s caught wind of those._

That’s what a lot of people seem to think. That he’s arrogant, an asshole, just as bad as the men he works with. 

Maybe he is. He goes along with things because he’s scared - of pain. Of dying. Maybe a good man would’ve resisted years ago, given their life up out of some noble inability to keep going along with all the bad things.

_You’re not noble. Are you a coward for being too scared they’ll kill you to fight back? Would the others see it like that, if they knew?  
  
__You can’t keep this up forever_.

It’s not just that Clayton will get sick of him eventually, but that he doesn’t know how long he can go on like this. Being jumpy all the time, barely recovering from one job before being sent on the next, feeling so desperately _alone_. At once silent, yet feeling like he’s screaming into the void.

Here in the safehouse it’s at least a brief respite - but this will end too. Unless he does something about it. Wasn’t that what Michael said, last night? Be the change.

_Like it’s so fucking easy._

He insisted on coming here because he needed to get _out_ , if just for a bit. Out from Clayton’s grasp, with some space just to be himself for a little while. Space to think and breathe without worrying who’ll hurt him next. Maybe some stupid part of him entertained the thought he’d escape while he’s here, while he has the chance - but he tries not to dwell on that. He knows he won’t be able to.

And maybe some even stupider part of himself wanted to see if these others, these infamous Fakes, would help him.

Even now, he can’t bring himself to _believe_. _Get your hopes up and it’ll hurt even worse once you do go back to the base. Because they might not care. You could tell them what’s going on and they might just - look at you like you’re pathetic. Leave you to Gemini since you’ve done so much for them already._

_Or they might be bad after all, they might be_ worse _, they might take you and use you for themselves instead. You can’t trust them._

_But Burnie was so nice - and Geoff cares about the others._

_So? They know each other. What are you to them?  
  
_ _So what am I meant to do? Escape on my own? I have nowhere to go._

_Offer to work for Ramsey instead? He won’t trust you. Clayton will find you in the end no matter what you do. Unless the Fakes want to protect you, to help you, it’s pointless. And why would they?_

It’s just - hopeless. So he can’t bring himself to do anything, too scared of possible repercussions, lost in a maze with no way out. He feels so _trapped_ , and it’s bearing down on him-

And he _wants_ them to notice, to see what’s wrong, to _offer_ because he’s sure not gonna ask-

But they barely know him. They won’t. _They don’t care_. It could make him cry, how fucking alone he feels.

He shakes it off - tries to focus on _now_ , and how things are at least a tiny bit better away from Gemini’s base.

He looks out at the two of them again, how close they’re sitting.

_What Michael said… that there was another. That they were gonna be a three_. It’s hard to imagine, both of them letting someone else in. It’s hard to wrap his head around - that’d take a level of communication that’s frankly astounding - then again they seem to have made up pretty quickly today. And seeing how closed off the two of them are, it must’ve been someone pretty damn special.

_Michael said it didn’t work out_. He can’t help but be curious - who it was, and how, and _why_.

But he knows better than to ask, and after a moment he turns away. _That’s not your business. Don’t worry about it._

_Just focus on taking care of yourself for now, because no one else is gonna._

 

* * *

 

Michael really must feel bad about the plan going wrong, because he takes care of Gavin the rest of the day. It's very strange, and makes Gavin a bit nervous - how the other man keeps bringing him cups of tea (too weak, with too much milk, but it's the thought that counts), and offering to fetch him things so he doesn't have to get up off the couch, and asking him what he wants for lunch.

It's quite unsettling. He's worried this is some trap, or Michael will suddenly ask for something, or say Gavin owes him - use this against him later. But he's too awkward to refuse, and it's nice to at least _pretend_ for a bit that maybe Michael does feel guilty, maybe he does just want to make up for all the shouting earlier.

Still. He's been burned too many times before to trust the two of them, even if Michael is being nice. It's just instinct to stiffen when the other man's voice gets a bit too loud, even if he's just calling Ryan from the next room - to keep an eye on anything the other man picks up, be it a coffee mug or the TV remote or his iPad - to flinch when Michael nudges him gently so that he can get past him walking through the kitchen. He sees Michael staring at him, something curious and intent in his eyes, but he never asks, never comments. Gavin's not sure if he feels disappointed or relieved about that.

After the epic fucking failure of that last hit, they're stuck doing more planning. Gavin's working on another plan to get into the base, under the assumption that the Lost will be on high alert. They still need to destroy that ordnance. Ryan's looking for the tank, calling in every contact he can around the city, searching each nook and cranny. He organises for someone to film from a chopper at one point, scoping out the landscape around the base so they can examine the surrounding areas of AC from above.

And Michael - Michael's burning everything he found recorded back in the base, making sure all the information that the Lost have on them is effectively useless.

It's slow work, but it's peaceful. Out here away from the main base, Gavin finds it easier to focus on his work - he can almost enjoy the challenge of coming up with a good plan. Most days he doesn't leave the house, and the time passes quietly indoors, warm even if it's raining outside, productive even if he's busy working on too many things at once - the others too focused to fight with him.

He thinks they're starting to relax around him, a bit.

Maybe it's because he didn't get angry at them for leaving him behind back at the base. They seem to feel bad about it, even Ryan, even if he said he didn't care. Gavin doesn't mind, not really - it's what he expected would happen, and he's just too bloody used to being expendable to put the energy towards holding a grudge. So he's not mad at Ryan - but he does feel awkward around the other man, and avoids him as much as he can, working quietly and alone for the most part, joining them for meals occasionally.  

After the first few days, he expects that's how things will go. How he imagined in the first place - silently working together, interacting as little as possible, but getting things done. After a few days he even feels comfortable enough to take a break when he wants to without worrying about getting yelled at, happy to be able to do his work without Clayton breathing down his neck, to go for a walk around the block if he wants to stretch his legs.

He's content with that.

But then Michael starts talking to him.

For the most part Gavin's been hanging out in the dining room, and if the three of them are all in there they'll discuss their progress. But otherwise, he'll hear Michael and Ryan chatting in the kitchen, or sitting on the couch together, or see the light on under their closed bedroom door late at night.

Fair enough. He hardly expects them to be friendly to him, and at least they're not actively hostile any more.

But a few days after the failed job, when things have calmed down and they've settled into a routine of watching, waiting, planning, and Michael's anger seems to have abated a little, and Ryan's lost some of the haunted look in his eyes, and Gavin's wounds are slowly healing-

Michael starts _talking_ to him.

Starts coming up and sitting next to Gavin while he's working and asking him things. Little things at first, like what he wants for dinner, or if it will distract him if Michael plays some music while he's working. That stuff's fine.

Then one day he sits next to Gavin while he's taking a break, sprawls back in his chair and asks, "So how'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Gavin asks, a bit nervously. For a moment, he thinks he's done something he can't remember that the others have found out about - like contacted Clayton about the tank, or accidentally stolen something from one of them - but when he looks at Michael, the other man doesn't seem angry. He's got a foot up on his chair, swinging it onto its back legs, and is smiling amiably, brows arched.

"How'd you break into that police station and steal the keys to that jet from the evidence room? It was the talk of the city for a while last year. Think it's still driving them crazy not knowing how someone got in. No one approached the building at all and there were security cameras on all sides that weren't tampered with. That was you, wasn't it? Seeing as how the Harts were flying around in that thing not two weeks later."

"Oh. Yeah, that was me." He's a bit surprised - but Michael seems genuinely interested in the story. "You're right, no one approached the building. I was already in the underground car park."

"How? They would've seen you go in earlier."

"I was hiding in the backseat of one of the night shift officers' cars. Had been in there for hours; I broke in while he was parked earlier in the day. Climbed out and short-circuited the fuse box. With the lights out inside I got in and out in the dark with no one any the wiser."

"The lights were only out, like, five minutes."

"I worked fast." He grins a bit. "The cops in this city aren't exactly the most vigilant. Makes life easier."

"True," Michael admits, but he looks impressed, and Gavin feels a little pleased thrill.

"Can I ask you something now, Michael?" he asks, tentatively, and only feels warmer when Michael nods.

"I get that Ryan wears the mask as part of his Vagabond persona, but why the hell does that Dooley guy in your crew have that colour scheme going on? Is there some psychological reasoning behind the effect it has on people or does he just have no fashion sense?"

Michael stares at him, then bursts out laughing, and Gavin feels a surge of relief - part of him had almost expected Michael to be annoyed, to yell at him, to tell him he's an asshole again. But the other man just roars with laughter, and Gavin's grin this time is bigger, genuine.

"Oh my God. Dude. I am so telling him you said that. I agree complete, it's fucking atrocious. He has this stupid thing about Rimmy Tim-"

"Rimming- what?"

_"Rimmy_ Tim, it's like - his persona, but it's not like the Vagabond, there's no reputation, it's just fucking _stupid._ I think he just likes to be as outrageous as possible. All his cars are that damn colour, too. Like I get that we need dramatic signature outfits but there is nothing intimidating about purple and orange."

"Maybe he's trying to be like one of those poisonous frogs that have bright colours to show they're dangerous?" Gavin suggests, and Michael's grin stretches wider.

"You're giving him too much credit! There's no scientific reasoning behind it. He's just an idiot."

He rises, chuckling to himself, and Gavin can't help but smile as he turns back to his work. It was nice to joke around, for a bit.

It was nice to feel _involved._

And it doesn't end there - after that Michael keeps coming up to him and asking about other shit. Past jobs, or what he wants to steal in the future, or the weirdest things he's seen when breaking into people's houses. 

_He might be fishing for information. Getting close so you let your guard down._ But still - it's been so long since someone was interested, since he could talk to someone, and he can't help but engage, like a starving man desperate for some sort of human interaction. Something normal. Something friendly. Even if it isn't real - it still makes him feel good, at least for a few minutes.

"How are Gemini going with those files I gave you, the ones the Lost had on you?" Michael asks a couple of evenings later. Gavin's about to start work again but Michael's come up and plonked himself on the couch next to him. In the kitchen, he can hear the clatter of dishes in the sink as Ryan washes up. The two of them cooked dinner again, while Gavin ate his noodles. He's starting to run low but he has no money to go shopping, and the only downside of being out of the base is that Clayton isn’t here to occasionally give him some money for doing a good job.

_You’ll have to steal some_. He’s been in the house, hasn’t had a chance - unless he wants to rob the other two, which is out of the question. Ryan would probably break his hands.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"You know, all this shit I've been doing making sure all the intel they had on us is useless. You guys going okay with that?"

"Oh," Gavin says, and bites his lip. "I don't know. I just sent it all to Clayton. I assume he's dealing with it. That's not what I do for the crew."

Michael nods. He slumps back against the couch, and Gavin rather awkwardly sits there. He's too aware of how they're sitting close enough that their shoulders are nearly brushing. He expects Michael to leave - but he just sort of _lounges_ there, like he's comfortable enough to be here, next to Gavin, in a companionable sort of silence. After a few moments Gavin relaxes enough to let the tension leach from his shoulders and open his laptop to continue working.

"Who else is in Gemini's main crew?" Michael asks suddenly.

Gavin freezes. He glances at Michael - but there's genuine curiosity in the other man's eyes. It doesn't sound like a trap. _But it could be_.

"You... you know the Harts already?" Gavin begins tentatively.

Michael flaps a hand.

"Oh, I know them. But I'm curious, of course I am, about the ones here in AC. Like, you know the names of our lot - Jack, and Mica, and Lindsay, and all the rest, but you don't _know_ know them. No one does except our crew. Like, I know Clayton, but I'm sure he acts differently around the rest of you guys than he does in our meetings."

"No," Gavin mutters sourly, "He's pretty much the same."

Michael snorts.

"He's gotta be different when he has his guard down."

_Yeah,_ Gavin thinks bitterly, _he's worse when no one's around._

"Clayton's the main guy in charge of this side of our territory," he says, carefully. "He answers directly to the twins. But he has a bunch of mercenaries who are loyal to him - they're the main muscle on things. They're closer friends with each other than they are to Clayton."

"Who are Clayton's friends, then?"

"Not people in Gemini. Other people he always hangs out with down the pub. Gamblers, I think. He likes to play cards." He bites his lip, uncomfortable, remembers the few times he dragged Gavin along with him. _He can steal anything for you. I'd bet him if I wasn't worried the Harts would kill me, he's been getting so much shit for them. Ha ha!_ Like he was nothing more than a fucking object, like he could just be given away to God knows who the second Clayton gets tired of him. He remembers the gamblers with their dark brooding eyes and dirty teeth and quick clever hands, how they seemed to look at the world like nothing more than a series of opportunities, look at people like they only cared how much they could get out of them. 

"Guess some people keep business and pleasure apart," Michael comments idly, and Gavin nods, ducking his head.

"Yeah... not my sort."

"But you have friends back in England, yeah? What did you say his name was?"

"Dan," Gavin says softly, but that just makes him sad to think about. "Fell out of touch since I came to America."

"That sucks." Michael looks a bit upset suddenly, and Gavin remembers abruptly that he ran from home, too. Left his friends behind. His family. Dodger coming back so suddenly must be like... like if Dan suddenly popped up here except he was evil and trying to kill them. Like the bloody Star Trek episode where they all had evil doubles and Spock had a sinister goatee. God, Dan would look weird with a goatee. Maybe just a little moustache.

"How did you meet Geoff?" he asks a bit shyly, trying to change the subject. "You joined the Fakes before Ryan, right?"

Michael nods, his eyes brightening.

"Yeah. I was working freelance, cleaning up other people's messes. And Geoff had made a _big_ fucking mess with a botched heist and needed me to cover his tracks. The FAHC was still solidifying its presence in the city, then - wasn't as powerful as it is now. Anyway, we got along really well so he started using me on more and more jobs. We went out for drinks and I... I guess I fell for his vision for the city.  He wasn't like any of the other crime lords I'd seen around, wasn't anything like Kant." He spits the name, and for a moment the flash of hatred in his eyes is so intense that Gavin shifts away from him on the couch a little. "But Geoff's different. And I'd been alone for a long time. I wanted to be a part of something again. Joined, and never looked back. I love it here."

"That's really nice," Gavin murmurs. There's something ugly and jealous worming in his chest. God, he wishes he'd been the one to run into Geoff, to catch his attention. Wishes he was part of their intimate little crew, who laugh and joke with one another. He saw how Geoff hugged Michael, back at the garage. Saw how much he clearly loves all of his people.

_There's good out there. There's hope and love and light._

_Just not for you._

"How'd you meet Clayton?" Michael asks, and Gavin's stomach twists again.

_Tell him. Tell him what happened. Tell him how he owns you. Tell him how you're scared, how you hate it here._ It bubbles up in the back of his throat but he can't get the words out. He feels like if he tried to speak he would sound like nothing. Like the wind. Like an owl in the night; a distant cry, forgotten instantly. Michael will think him small and stupid. Michael won't help. He just can't trust him.

Even if he wants to - _will he cross all of Gemini just to help you? One stupid little thief he barely knows? Because if Clayton finds out that you told him, that you tried to get away from him - God, if Michael doesn't help you, you'll be dead meat._

"He... he saved me," he manages.

"From what?"

"I... I was young and stupid and I came to AC knowing nothing about what it was like here. I stole from the wrong people. He saved my life." It's the truth, or technically it is. It's the version Clayton likes, at least. It's the version he's meant to tell people - if he's even allowed to talk to them. 

"So that's why you stick with Gemini? You owe him, and that's why you stay?" 

"Yeah," Gavin murmurs, and looks away.

"Shit. But you don't like him, even if he saved your life?" Michael asks. He sounds confused, and Gavin doesn't know what to say. His shoulders hunch up miserably, and he ignores the question and starts working. Michael's silent for a long moment.

"Fair enough," he says finally. "Guess Geoff saved me too, in a way. Anyway, I won't distract you. Just curious what it was like, you with your crew and all."

Gavin peeks up at him. He feels sick, but he doesn't want to make Michael think he's angry with him. He manages a small smile.

"Geoff seems like he cares about you a lot. That must be nice."

"It is," Michael agrees, and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, it is."

He gets up and pads off into the kitchen to talk to Ryan, and Gavin stares after him, something so desperate and longing in his chest that it nearly hurts.

 

* * *

 

So he's getting along a lot better with Michael after that, and the rest of the week is... good. Good in a way he hasn't felt in a long time. Good in a way that almost _scares_ him, because-

Michael makes him French toast one morning, sets a plate out for Gavin without even asking. Gavin eats his with salt, and Michael drenches his in lemon and sugar, and he and Ryan bicker about who kept stealing the blankets last night, and even if Gavin's just eating quietly it makes him giggle when the two of them start trying to debate over whether Ryan's face paint is too extravagant if he adds spots as well as stripes.

(They joke around a lot, him and Michael, when they start fleshing out the plan together. Suggest ridiculous things like pole vaulting over the wall, or tunnelling under with an army of naked mole rats, or disguising themselves as trees and creeping closer and closer like the end of Macbeth, and Gavin can almost lighten up, and he loves Michael's laugh and the way his eyes crinkle up when he's amused, and the other man smiles more and more around him-)

He's up past midnight one evening when Michael comes to get a snack and sees him working, and he makes easy mac for both of them with extra cheddar in it, and somehow they end up not doing any work but just talking about past jobs they've pulled instead, and there's something deliriously happy about being up in the middle of the night with stupid packet mac and cheese and being so caught up in conversation that they forget what time it is. He can't remember the last time he did anything like that.

(Michael asks him about his old school one day, curious, and Gavin doesn't tell him the bad stuff. Doesn't tell him about the boys who'd chase and yell at him, and how some holidays he'd be the only person back at school, in an empty dorm room with no one around, and how people ripped up his books or slammed him into lockers - no, he tells him about Dan, and how they rescued all the mice in the science labs and played pranks on their music teacher and made apple pie beds to mess with the other boarders, happy things, adventures-)

Michael buys dinner most days now, since Ryan is so busy. He asks Gavin what pizza he likes, and if he knows how to use chopsticks, and what type of bread he wants for his subway. Between empty take-away boxes and cheap beer Gavin sometimes pipes up with his opinion about what’s happening on the news, and the other small gangs in the city, and what his dream heist would be. Ryan’s usually reserved in these conversations, but Michael doesn’t tell Gavin to shut up. He nods and smiles and seems interested in what he’s saying and for a little while, he can almost feel _human_ again.

He keeps thinking about hope.

Thinks maybe that’s what it is - the excited thrum he gets in his chest when the other man smiles at him. How he has more energy now on a full stomach. How even if he keeps falling asleep on the couch or over the table when all his late nights catch up with him, he wakes to find a blanket over his shoulders, or his laptop closed and plugged in to charge. The others watch him from the fringes, from the dark doorway of their room. Sometimes they stop talking when he walks by. But it doesn’t feel like before, like the air in the house is too thick and he belongs outside in the cold.

He almost dares to enjoy himself. It’s good, but it’s bad, and _terrifying_ , because he shouldn’t want this. Can’t have this.

Michael tries to pat him on the back one day, after he finally cracks a weak spot in the wall of the Lost base, and he jolts violently away. The other man doesn’t usually touch him anymore, not after the last few times, but for a moment Gavin sees the startled flicker in his eyes.

“Jesus, you okay?” Michael asks.

He’s embarrassed, and swallows hard, and how can he say it’s been so long since someone touched him without wanting to hurt him that when he saw Michael’s hand move he assumed he was going to pull his hair, twist his ear, smack him on the back of the head? How can he say that his heart is pounding even now he knows it shouldn’t be?

(And how can he say that he wishes he hadn’t flinched, that he _wants_ Michael to touch him again, knowing it’ll be soft this time - a hand on his back, an arm around his shoulders. A smile.)

“You startled me,” he manages, nearly a whisper, and Michael gives him a long, measuring look.

“You know,” he says, and there’s something slow and careful in it, but somehow Gavin thinks this isn’t about _him_ , not really, because it’s the same look on Michael’s face as back in that bathroom, after he was just _so fucking angry_ , and how he sounded like he hated himself when he said it - _you scared of me? -_ and Dodger’s words in his eyes, in his mouth, in the back of his head - _you really seemed to enjoy it_ \- “I wasn’t about to hit you.”

“I know,” Gavin lies, and Michael shuffles off, and Gavin _still_ can’t stop worrying if he’s mad at him now, and he spends the rest of the evening in his room, and is unduly relieved when Michael texts him later on telling him they’re getting Thai for dinner and if he wants anything specific he’d better look the place up on MenuLog.

He doesn’t try and touch him again, and part of Gavin’s glad, but part of him wishes he would. Sometimes he feels invisible, or worse, like something grotesque, something people try not to touch or look at too long or think about too hard, too-aware of every inch of his own flesh.

(Burnie was nice. He keeps thinking about that.)

But every time he gets something close to relaxed, every time he so much as dares to think _maybe this will work, maybe one of them will see, maybe you won’t ever have to leave this house, maybe after this job things will finally change-_

Clayton calls.

Gavin’s meant to report back to him every second day, but usually he rings more regularly than that. Every time the sound of the phone vibrating, the other man’s name popping up on the screen, makes his heart start beating too fast and bile rise in his throat, and no matter how relaxed he was earlier in the day it makes him feel like he needs to draw back into his shell, to be more careful, to not let himself get too comfortable here.

They haven't met in person since that first day in the house - and the entire time Clayton seemed edgy, continually pressing Gavin with his plan for what he wanted to do to the others.

"First steal the tank," he'd reiterated, "Once we know where it is, then take out the two of them. If we got rid of the fucking Vagabond, God, Ramsey'd be spewing. Not to mention his little pet Michael. It'd hit him where it hurts. Once we know where that tank really is, you give them false info. Make them think you're taking them to it, but instead I'll have a bunch of men waiting. If you can get them to trust you, they won't suspect a thing."

"You shouldn't take them out so soon," Gavin had tried to argue, feeling sick, wanting excuses to wait, to not be the one responsible. "Ramsey's close to all his crew. If we did that to two of his... he'd come after us hard, and he wouldn't show mercy. We don't have the resources to fight him yet-"

"We'll have the fucking tank if you do your damn job, won't we?" Clayton had snapped, and then grabbed him by the throat and made sure he knew exactly whose orders he was meant to be following.

It's not the first time he's been punished for questioning a plan, and it won't be the last, and on the phone every time they talk Clayton's voice is tight and cold. He clearly doesn't like Gavin being here, and every call is a constant reminder that he and others aren't actually friends, aren't on the same side here - not really.

What is he going to do, betray them? Play along with Clayton? 

They shouldn't trust him. They probably don't. Hell, Michael's probably trying to do the same thing to him - get close to him. Be _sweet_ so that Gavin trusts him, so they can try and trick him later. Maybe even kill him.

He's dreading seeing Clayton in person again - knows he'll want to remind him that he's never getting out of here. He just doesn't know what to _do_ \- he could sabotage the job, or work slowly to avoid having to leave the house, but he's worried they'll notice if he does.

So he's just - _stuck_ , he's bloody stuck. If he hopes things can change, he knows he'll be bitterly disappointed. If he goes along with the job, he'll have to betray the others, hurt them - and more and more he hates the thought of that. Or he could tell them Clayton's plan, save them - but he'd end up left to the mercy of Gemini, or lack thereof.

Maybe he could trade with them, strike a deal. Tell them what'll happen in exchange for protection.

But he'll have to feel things out first, and in the meantime the constant knowledge that this isn't real, it can't be, makes it hard to get close because-

Because he _wants_ to smile, to touch, to tell Michael how amazing he thinks he is. How strong, for getting himself out of the Lost back when he was younger, when he must've felt just like how Gavin does now. Like Kant owned him, like Michael owed _him_ , and he was only a boy back then. God, there's so much he wants to share.

He bites his tongue so much he's surprised he has one left. Some days he doesn't feel like a real boy - just a shadow.

 

* * *

 

Things are different with Ryan, of course. More strained. Gavin might get along with Michael, but he avoids the Vagabond at all costs - and if it's the three of them all sitting together, he's quieter.

The main issue is he has no idea what Ryan thinks of him now, or if the two of them talk about him. He clearly doesn't trust Gavin, or care about him, and he hasn't initiated conversation - so Gavin can only assume that he hates him, or he'd surely talk to him, wouldn't he?

Unfortunately, he can't avoid him forever.

"Where are you going?" Ryan calls out one afternoon, as Gavin's preparing to leave the house. "Meeting Clayton?"

"No," Gavin replies, freezing and glancing over his shoulder. Michael's gone out to meet with Geoff, and he thought Ryan was busy working on his laptop - but the other man's come to the doorway of his room, one eyebrow raised at him. "Supply run. The hardware store. Need to get some stuff to test part of my plan."

"Oh. I might come with you, there's some stuff I want to get too."

Gavin nods, a bit awkwardly, and waits as Ryan vanishes back into his room only to emerge with his jacket on and a helmet hanging from one hand.

"You taking your bike?" he asks, and Gavin nods.

"Yeah."

"I'll ride with you."

"What?"

"I'll ride with you," Ryan repeats, slowly, like Gavin's stupid. "Should be faster. I'm not getting much."

"You want to ride on my bike with me?" Gavin asks, incredulously, and Ryan tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

"Yes. Is there a problem?" he demands, and Gavin swallows, very confused, and very afraid of Ryan's wrath.

"Um, I... I guess not, if you think that will work."

"You've never ridden with a passenger before? Jesus, fine. We'll take my bike. Grab your helmet."

He strides out, shaking his head, clearly annoyed, and Gavin bites his lip unhappily. He'd quite been looking forward to getting out of the house and going shopping on his own for a bit. Now he's managed to piss Ryan off and he'll have to be around him for a good few hours. Just great.

Ryan's waiting impatiently in the back drive, by his big red and black motorbike. It's very impressive, and Gavin's seen him zipping around on it. He can only imagine the police chases they must have  had on that thing, or long rides with Michael behind him, gripping his waist, their bodies moving easily in practiced motion.

_And you're gonna ride on that with him? Fuck._

He nervously goes towards the garage and pulls the door open, going to grab his own helmet - and glancing over at the bicycle in the corner. Poor old thing, the paint's nearly entirely gone by now and the bell's broken, but it gets him around.

"Fucking hell, is that what you meant by your bike?"

Gavin jumps a little. He spins to find Ryan in the garage doorway, staring at his bike.

"Yeah?" he replies, a bit sheepishly. He never really leaves the house at the same time as the others unless they're all going somewhere in the same car, and they don't use the garage, so. He just assumed they realised what he meant by bike, but from the look on Ryan's face, he had something very different in mind. "You didn't think I meant a motorbike, did you?"

"That's exactly what I thought you meant." To his surprise, Ryan laughs. It's a nice sound, makes something in his shoulders ease. "Why the hell would I assume bicycle? And here I was asking for us both to get on it! The damn thing would split in half. I'm surprised it can even hold your weight. Looks on the verge of falling apart."

"Well, I'd've said motorcycle if that's what I meant!"

"Surely you don't get around on that all the time. It must take forever."

"Exercise," Gavin murmurs. "Save the planet and all that, innit."

"Your social conscience in that matter is at odds with your career path, but sure. You can't wear that helmet," Ryan adds, glancing at what's in his hands. "It's not safe. I'll grab Michael's. God, you're a weird one, Free," he adds, and leaves the garage, chuckling to himself.

It's not exactly a compliment, but he almost sounded fond, and for a moment Gavin can almost believe that Ryan doesn't hate him. He lingers out awkwardly by the motorbike, casting it suspicious little glances. Ryan re-emerges with another helmet and moves forward, hands outstretched, like he's gonna put it on Gavin himself. Gavin can't help shrinking back a little, but forces himself to stand still as Ryan puts it on his head and tightens the strap, pushing and pulling to make sure it's on securely. It's intimidating having him standing so close, tall enough that Gavin has to tilt his head back, their chests nearly touching. It's a cold day and he can feel the warmth radiating from Ryan's body.

“That alright? Not too tight or loose?” Ryan asks.

Gavin nods, peeking up at him. Ryan stares at him for a long moment before nodding and stepping back.

“Alright. Let’s go then.”

He climbs onto the bike but Gavin lingers, awkwardly.

“I… I haven’t ridden one before,” he admits, at Ryan’s expectant look, and braces himself to be yelled at. Ryan’s long silence is intimidating and the motorbike helmet is just as unsettling as the mask. Gavin can only see his own pale face staring back at him, reflected in the dark visor. He reaches up and pulls down his as well, after a moment.

“You’ve never ridden a motorbike before?” Ryan repeats, incredulous.

Gavin shakes his head, foot scuffing awkwardly at the dirt.

“No. I, um, never had one back in England, and Clayton likes to drive a car everywhere. Do I just sort of…” He gestures helplessly at Ryan, who lets out a heavy sigh, but turns and gestures.

“Sit behind me. Get on from the left using that peg. Put your hands on my waist. Don’t cling - you don’t want to restrict my movements - don’t lean on my back, either. Don’t grab my shoulders or arms.”

His voice is patient - as patient as Burnie’s was. It’s surprising, but it calms Gavin at least a little as he climbs on. It feels awkward to hold on to Ryan, but the second the other man revs the engine he squeaks and clings on.

“Not too tight,” Ryan reminds him.

“I might fall off.” There’s an edge of panic in his voice - this is _new_ , and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Ryan doesn’t _care_ \- but the other man turns again, and reaches back. He takes Gavin by the wrists and repositions his hands gently.

“I won’t go too fast. We’ll do a practice lap around the block first so you know what to do when we turn a corner. Trust me, you’ll be _fine_ ,” he says, and Gavin swallows and nods. His heart’s pounding, but Ryan didn’t sound angry, and when he sets off he does go as slowly as promised.

_Trust m_ e, Gavin thinks, and something aches a little in his chest - he wants to, he _can’t_ , _they shouldn’t trust_ you.

 

* * *

 

**xii. hook**

_Ryan doesn’t know what’s worse._

_There are the memories of when they were together - red lips, red hair, red blood washed away under gentle hands. Being young and free and_ unstoppable - _or they thought so, anyway - believing they’d take over the world together. The memories of when he proposed - after they’d finished a big job and fled from the cops out of the city and into the hills, and at the highest point overlooking the valley they’d watched the sun set over vineyards and wind farms, and somehow dropping to one knee was more terrifying than the hit they’d just pulled off, than any bounty they’d ever chased down together, every near-death experience, every bullet and bloodstain-_

_(“I know we’ve been together for a - a really long time, and partners for longer - I mean_ friends _for longer, then partners, then together - shit, this isn’t coming out right, I’m all mixed up - God damn it._

_Will you marry me?”)_

_But then there are the memories of childhood. Of the history that brought them so close together, of hot summers in the school playground, and robbing milk bars and corner shops together, of giggling in the shade of the bleachers while skipping last period. Freckle-faced kids and spotty, gangly teenagers and through it all she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, his Wendy, his sunlight, his best friend and the second half of his soul, as constant as his own shadow, attached at the tips of their toes, dancing every step through life together, right to the bitter_ fucking _end-_

“Gavin doesn’t fight back.”

Ever since Michael said it, Ryan can’t stop noticing. That’s what’s so fucking weird about it, and he’s finally put his finger on it. Not that the other man’s quiet, or shy, or sits in his room most of the evening.

That this whole time he never shouts back, or pushes them, or threatens to pull out of the job. That Michael can slam him against a wall or Ryan can grab him by the front of the shirt and all he’ll do is stand there - won’t even really struggle. He just stands there and takes it and doesn’t even really seem _angry_ , and there is something deeply uncomfortable about that. 

It’s made Michael feel weird about being mean to him, Ryan knows, and for whatever reason he’s now gotten it into his head to get to _know_ Gavin. And he’s watched from the fringes, listened in from the next room, as the two of them share stories or joke around, and Gavin sometimes even _laughs_ , and he can see that no matter how much Michael denies it, he’s start to quite _like_ the other man. Or at least like working together. Or at least find it fun, rather than a trial.

_Dangerous. Very, very dangerous._

He’s worried this is all a trap, that Michael will get hurt inadvertently, especially with all the rest of this shit going on. Ryan can’t stop thinking about the possibility - since Gavin asked him about Michael, since his boyfriend’s past came breathing down his neck-

_(Since the girl with the red hair; it’s just that_ you’re _scared, isn’t it, Haywood-)_

He’s unsure. So he’s stayed back, not wanting to get in Michael’s way, but watching. Carefully. Unsure whether to trust that Free genuinely is just a quiet, awkward, jumpy little guy, or if this is something more sinister. Some sort of very subtle act he’s putting on, and God, he’d deserve a fucking Oscar for it, the amount of times Ryan’s seen him flinch when surely he wouldn’t know there was someone looking - how he clams up when Ryan gets too close, the hesitance in how he so much as _smiles_ around Michael.

_Real or not, you can’t tell. And until you know for sure, you can’t trust him. And even if it is real, he works for Gemini, and from the sounds of it doesn’t intend to change that any time soon_.

But even _he’s_ starting to feel bad around the other man, as they rush through the streets of Eastside, the other man gripping his waist gently. It’s like having a wild bird land on his shoulder; he feels like any sudden movement will make him startle and fly away again. 

_(You know fear, it’s a familiar friend. He’s scared, too, but of what? Of you? Of Michael? Of you finding out whatever it is he’s planning? Or of something else, something worse, something that could hurt you too, could hurt_ Michael - _you’ve got to take care of your own. Just your own. Just the few you’ve finally let in. If something happened to him, God, it’d_ break you. _You can’t take it, not again, not again, not a-)_

 

* * *

 

The hardware store has awful greyish lighting that keeps making Ryan think it’s later in the day than it actually is. Grim-faced old men wander the aisles, gathering DIY supplies for whatever projects they’re working on, something sullen to everyone’s features. Maybe it’s the bad weather - or maybe something in Ryan’s own face that makes others look at him with nothing but hostile glances.

He’s gathered what he needs - lights and wires. He wants to set some traps around the bush surrounding AC. Then goes in search of Gavin, to find him lugging a basket of shit that’s nearly as big as he is through one aisle.

“Jesus, what’s all that for?” Ryan demands. He can see rope, and wood, and a lot of nails, and some lengths of metal rebar. “You can’t expect us to take all that back on the bike!”

“Oh,” Gavin says, and glances down at his haul. “Shit, I forgot about that.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. 

“Make a list and I’ll pick it up tomorrow in the car. You’re ready to test your plan, then?”

“Yes, I think I’ve got a way for us to get in. But we’d need to figure out a trap, first - and decide if our aim is to kill them all, or just take their stuff for now.”

“Good. I was starting to wonder when we’d hit them again. It’s been almost a week. That’s a long time when your enemies have a tank and a shitload of explosives.”

He doesn’t mean it too seriously, but Gavin looks down, lips twisting unhappily.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m working as fast as I can.”

His hunched shoulders and kicked-puppy look only serve to make Ryan feel completely terrible. 

“Hey - I know,” he says, softly enough that he sees Gavin’s shoulders relax a little. “Just scary having to wait is all.”

“You’re the Vagabond,” Gavin murmurs. “They should be scared of _you_.”

“Everyone should be scared of that amount of explosives,” Ryan says, and Gavin gives a breathy little giggle before going to unpack his ridiculous basket. Ryan watches him, unable to help his little frown.

_So much for the arrogant know-it-all we thought he was_ , he thinks, confused.

There’s a long line at the checkout, and it’s a crowded, uncomfortable one. They wait in it together, but pay separately. Gavin ends up buying a few lengths of rope, since that’s easy to carry back. He uses a black debit card that he produces from his back pocket. They’re heading back to the bike when Ryan sees him taking cash out of another pocket and stuffing it into a little wallet in his jacket.

“Interesting system of carrying around money,” he comments. “What, you keep some hidden in your shoes, too?”

“No, Ryan, it’d get all smelly,” Gavin chides, but glances back over his shoulder at the warehouse. “We should leave quickly.”

“Why?”

“Nicked all this from them back there, didn’t I?”

“What?” Ryan snaps, and whips his head around. “You pick-pocketed people in line?”

Gavin shrugs, seeming quite unconcerned as he zips the little purse up again and puts it away. Ryan glances back at the store again - those were civilians, and the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“What,” he snarls, and sees Gavin’s spine stiffen at the shift in his tone, “For _fun_? Gotta keep in shape, is that it?”

“What?” Gavin stammers. “No, I - I need money for groceries.”

“You have a card.”

“That’s Clayton’s. He’ll pay for expenses on this job, but he keeps track of what gets bought with it.” Gavin’s hands fist nervously in the pockets of his jacket, and he takes a step back from Ryan. “I didn’t take much from each of them. Just spare change. They probably won’t even miss it.”

“As if you don’t have enough fucking money of your own! The scale of the jobs you pull for Gemini…” he trails off, because there’s a funny look on Gavin’s face, and he’s not stupid. He can tell something’s up. “Don’t you get paid?”

There is a very long, awkward silence. Gavin’s staring at a point slightly left of his face.

“It’s complicated,” he says finally.

“Complicated?” Ryan demands. “Is that a roundabout way of saying _no_? What the hell, Free, why are you working for them if they’re not even paying you? The publicity? The fucking kindness of your heart?”

Gavin’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t answer - just stands, looking away, frozen like a statue.

“So you’ve got no money except what you pickpocket? No wonder you never pay for dinner.”

It’s mostly a jab to try and get him to talk, but a look of pure horror flashes across Gavin’s face.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, something genuinely distressed in it. “I didn’t realise you… it’s just that Michael offered… I’ll stop, sorry.”

Ryan’s frown deepens. He’s starting to get a worse and worse feeling about all this - the sort of feeling he gets when he goes into the aftermath of any gang dispute, when he saw those pictures of what happened to Gemini’s contacts, when civilians get caught in the crossfire. Something sick deep in his stomach, something that still manages to be shocked at the depths of human cruelty. And he’s noticed, this whole time, how shyly Gavin takes food from the house - something guilty in everything he does, even if it’s just a spoonful of coffee or a splash of their milk.

_He doesn’t fight back,_ he thinks, and remembers the ugly smile on Clayton’s face, back in the restaurant. His gorge rises.

Gavin still looks like he’s ready to implode any second, and Ryan quickly shakes his head.

“It’s no skin off my nose,” he says, “We can afford a pizza now and then. But aren’t _you_ mad about it? Hell, I _like_ my boss but I’d still be pissed if he expected me to go on heists without getting a cut.”

“It’s my business, not yours,” Gavin replies stiffly. “What do you care what goes on in Gemini?”

Ryan freezes. What _does_ he care? 

_You don’t_ , he insists to himself, _you’re curious, you want to figure this out. Because Michael’s too involved,_ Michael _cares too much now._

There’s a long silence as they both continue walking back down the street to where they parked the bike. Gavin’s trailing a few paces behind him now, and when Ryan glances back at him, the other man’s shoulders are hunched, and there’s a worried pinch to his face. He remembers that dark night, how he heard the other man yell over the earpiece. How easily he ignored it. 

“You look better,” he says abruptly, pausing so Gavin can catch up with him.

Gavin glances at him, questioningly, and Ryan swallows. It’s an effort to sound casual, and he wishes he had his mask.

“Your injuries,” he says, “From the first hit. You look better. Should be good if we can strike them again soon.”

“I took the stitches out yesterday. Nothing was broken,” Gavin murmurs, and nods. “Yeah, I should be fine if we need to do anything physical soon.”

Ryan bites his lip. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, or why it’s so _hard_ , or why he should even bother. But he’s had time to cool down since Michael scared him so badly - time to think over what he did. Time to see Gavin differently, as more than just an expendable asset. Someone with a past, and fears, and favourite things. Someone who feels pain just like the rest of them.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It comes out stiffly, but he swallows and forces himself to continue. _No matter how much you dislike him, you owe him this at least._ “I… I shouldn’t have just abandoned you out there. I was scared about Michael, and I wanted to keep him safe, but I left you in the lurch and that’s a shitty thing for anyone working together to do. If you’d done it to me I know I would’ve been pissed and probably refused to ever work with you again. I was working through… some of my own stuff. So it scared me when Michael did that, and it’s taken me a while to calm down about it.”

Gavin’s eyes are wide like saucers. Since his glasses broke it’s been marginally easier to read him, and Ryan can tell he’s taken aback.

“It was a week ago,” Gavin manages finally.

“Then consider this a week-late apology.”

“Oh. It’s fine. Thank you. I get it - Michael’s part of your crew. I’m not. You protect him - not me.” He shrugs, like it’s just that fucking easy, and Ryan can only stare at him.

“You don’t get pissed at people when they hurt you,” he says. It’s almost an accusation, and Gavin looks even more confused.

“Should I?” he asks, and Ryan splutters.

“I mean, _yeah_. Most people would.”

Gavin stares at him, quizzically. Then he gives a small smile.

“This isn’t a trick, Ryan. I’m not just - just _pretending_ we’re cool and then secretly holding a grudge. People have done a lot worse to me than what you did. Besides, we don’t know each other - you don’t owe me anything. I’m not angry about it.”

Not… really what Ryan had been trying to point out. But there’s something almost sweet about how gentle Gavin’s voice is, like _he’s_ the one trying to reassure _Ryan_.

“Seems like an easy way for people to take advantage of you,” he continues, pointedly, and Gavin stares dumbly at him before shrugging.

“I guess so,” he says, and rubs at his eye before peering at Ryan quizzically. He looks so confused that Ryan feels suddenly almost flustered; like he’s the one who’s made a fool of himself here.

“You’re so fucking quiet,” he blurts out. “All the time. It makes it hard to get to know you.”

Gavin blinks at him.

“Do you want to?” he asks.

“Michael wants to,” Ryan says, and he must sound suspicious because Gavin bites his lip. Looks away. Wraps his arm around himself - protectively, not defensively. There’s a difference.

“I’m not trying to trick you guys,” he says finally. “I’m just a… a quiet person.”

“A quiet person who works for Gemini,” Ryan says slowly, and Gavin heaves a great sigh, clearly exasperated. They’ve reached the bike by now but neither move to get on it, standing on either side of it, staring at one another. He can see Gavin working himself up to say something - licking his lips nervously, opening and shutting his mouth before he finally takes a deep breath and looks up.

“Sometimes we don’t get to pick who we end up working for,” he says, with an odd fierceness, and Ryan stares at him, confused. He thinks about the words - about all the other shit Gavin’s said and done - something dawns on him, slowly.

“You have a contract with Clayton,” he muses. “You can’t break it because you two already made a deal. That’s what this is all about. Why you hate him. Why you still keep working for them.”

Gavin’s frozen, his shoulders tense. He meets Ryan’s eyes, and his face is unreadable.

“Something like that,” he replies, hesitantly.

“You’ve worked for them a year. How much longer?”

Gavin bites his lip, and looks down.

“A while,” he whispers, and huffs. “Quite a while.”

Well, shit. A lot of things make sense, now. Even Ryan signed a contract with Ramsey at first - work for him exclusively for a year before taking any other jobs. Made it easier to make sure no one would double cross anyone else. Contracts don’t mean shit, though, unless the person holding them is powerful enough for you to be scared. And Gemini is definitely powerful.

“When you signed up with him,” he begins, but Gavin’s already shaking his head.

“I didn’t know the sort of shit they do,” he says, quite frantically, “When I arrived in AC I had no idea who _anyone_ was.”

“Michael said Clayton saved your life,” Ryan begins, but Gavin just squeezes his eyes shut. Before he can answer - before this strange conversation, full of too many revelations, too many strained silences can continue - Ryan’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

The sound makes both of them jump. Ryan fishes it out with a frown - that only deepens when he realises it’s Geoff’s name on the screen.

“Geoff?” he says, answering the call. He sees Gavin’s eyes widen. “What’s up?”

“Ryan, I’m gonna text you an address and you need to get here right the fuck now.”

 

* * *

 

It starts drizzling again as they head back towards the safehouse - then past it, further into Eastside, near the fringes of Gemini's territory and back towards one of the garages they used to own. _Used_ being the key word. The mechanics who ran the place, a pair of brothers, were among their contacts sold out by the Lost.

Ryan sees the blood before they even get close, a thick, gory trail of it smeared around the side of the building. He hears Gavin suck in his breath as they pull up on the bike.

"Shit, it's... it's not one of yours, is it?" he whispers, as he climbs off.

"Geoff would've said on the phone if it was," Ryan replies grimly, but his stomach's churning and Michael's not answering his text messages. He feels shaky and nervous as he marches forward, around the corner, Gavin trailing along behind him.

They enter the garage, and Ryan freezes, sucking in his breath.

Hanging from a chain, swinging gently in the centre of the room, is the body of the weapons dealer he spared a week ago. She's dripping blood like rain, a rhythmic _pat pat pat_ onto the tarpaulin spread out below her body - her torso torn open, throat to navel. The blade's been left stuck into her shoulder. 

It's a horrible sight, and he hears Gavin gag behind him.

"Oh my God," the other man chokes out, and turns away with a hand pressed to his mouth.

Geoff and two bodyguards are standing staring at the body - but it's Michael Ryan's eyes turn to. He's a little way off to the side, arms folded tightly, gaze fixed on the swinging corpse.

"Ryan," Geoff begins as he approaches, but Ryan ignores him, making a beeline for Michael's side. He doesn't turn as Ryan gets near enough to see how hard he's shaking - then pulls him into his arms, in a tight hug. Just stands stiffly, arms still crossed, even as Ryan tugs him against his chest.

"You okay?" he murmurs - Michael doesn't reply, but Ryan can feel him trembling as he stands, stiff and staring at the body. Ryan looks up at it again and grimaces.

He's seen a lot of bad things in his time. A lot of blood, of violence, of mutilation. But something about the gory opening, the wide dead eyes, the pallor of her skin - it's sickening, and he turns away quickly. Too much red.

"Michael?" he urges. 

Michael swallows hard a few times. There's a lost look in his eyes that Ryan doesn't like - like he's not seeing the same thing as they are, but is trapped in a world of black and white, silent-movie, Neverland.

"It's my knife," he says, and Ryan stares at him.

Geoff's come over by now, face strained and worried.

"They sent a picture through our main contacts," he replies, "The ones who help people get in touch with us for jobs."

"Any message?" Ryan asks, and Geoff shakes his head.

"No, but Michael knew right away it was them. We recognised the location and came running. This woman - she worked for them?"

"Used to," Ryan says, grimly. "It was at her place that we tracked their car. They must've realised she handed over all her weapons to us. This is a threat-"

"It's not a threat," Michael cuts in, voice cracking and broken. "It's a gift."

"What?" Geoff asks, but Michael shrugs Ryan off and moves towards the body with stumbling, hypnotic steps, as though in a trance.

"It's a gift," he repeats softly, "For me."

He strains up on his toes, reaching for the body - Ryan cries out, moving to pull him back, but he's too late. Michael's fingers close around the knife and with a hoarse yell he wrenches it from the body. It swings on the chain with an awful fleshy noise, blood spattering across the tarp, some of it getting on Michael, too - but he just stands, the knife held out in front of him.

It's more of a sickle. More of a _hook_ \- and Ryan remembers Dodger's words, and feels ill.

"It's my knife," Michael repeats, "It's a gift, it's an invitation. An invitation to come home." 

He drops the knife like it's red-hot, stumbling backwards. He's breathing so hard that Ryan can see his shoulders heaving from here, and he reaches out and takes Michael's hand, tugging him off to the side and walking him a little distance away, around the corner where they can't see the blood any more. They can still smell it, thick and coppery in the air around them. Ryan grips Michael's shoulders, steadying him, until he looks up. His eyes are dark and wet, a funny, shocked blankness in them.

“Michael,” he urges.  "Hey, hey."

Michael's breathing too hard and fast, his shoulders heaving, and Ryan shifts his hands up to clasp the other man's face, thumbs stroking gently over his cheeks until Michael's eyes focus on his.

"Talk to me," he whispers, and Michael swallows hard a few times. He reaches up and grips at the front of Ryan's shirt, and the helpless look on his face breaks Ryan's heart.

"He was right," he whispers. "I used to be... to be one of the worst of them. Kant's best little killer. For a long time I saw nothing wrong with it. Hell, I _enjoyed_ it. I used to be nothing, but with the Lost I was powerful. People feared me. I could get whatever I wanted."

"You were a kid," Ryan says firmly. "And you realised, and you _left_. That makes you strong, Michael. Not weak."

"That's what I told myself, but seeing this... that fucking knife... I'm just angry, Ryan. I'm so fucking angry I can barely think straight." His hands fist in Ryan's shirt, and he looks down, taking a deep, shaking breath. "At him, at myself, at Kant. I've spent years trying to forget this shit, to not be that person anymore, and I thought I'd put it all behind me, but... but in a fucking second suddenly I remember _everything_. Suddenly I'm just... _feeling_ it all over again, I don't know, I just-"

He breaks off with a choked noise and Ryan tugs him closer.

"This isn't you," he murmurs. "This is what he wants. To make you doubt yourself, and how much you've changed, and everything you've become since you left. But I've seen you, Michael - you're not that boy anymore. You're one of us. One of the Fakes. One of Geoff's. You're not Hook, or whatever the fuck you used to call yourself. You're Mogar. You're _Michael._ My Michael."

Michael bites his lip, but when Ryan strokes his cheek again he leans into the touch, eyes closing for a moment. Ryan pulls him into a gentle hug and leans in to kiss the top of his head.

"You're angry, you're upset, because you care. Because you don't want to be that person any more. That shows more about you than any stupid old knife, than anything he can say or do to try and pull you back to him. You're past all that. I know it. I've seen it."

Michael's still shaking - but as Ryan holds him, his breathing slows, and he seems to calm. When he next looks up at Ryan, his eyes are red, and there's still something angry burning deep inside them - but he manages a small smile, and a nod.

"It's hard," he whispers. "But I know this isn't me."

"Good," Ryan murmurs, and kisses his forehead gently before taking his hand. "Let's go see what we should do about these assholes, hm?"

Michael nods, and presses close to Ryan's side as they head back around the side of the building.

The body's been taken down now, and covered over with a tarpaulin. Geoff is watching from nearby, still frowning, his arms folded - but it's Gavin Ryan's eyes drift to. He's moved to lean against the wall, his head down, arms wrapped around himself. He looks pale, and glances at Michael in concern as they return.

"Geoff," Ryan calls out, and beckons both of them over. "These bastards think they can shake Michael's resolve. Well, we'll show them. We're gonna hit them hard, and soon. And this time, we'll kill every last one of them."

Geoff nods. They turn to Gavin, who looks up at them worriedly.

"I can get us ready to break in within the next three days," he says. Ryan blinks - he thought it was going to take longer than that, given how slow progress has been lately - but Geoff looks pleased. 

"Good man," he says. He claps Gavin on the shoulder and Ryan sees the way he shrinks back a bit. He frowns.

He should talk to Geoff about Gavin. About the contract, about possibly getting him on side. Contracts can be bought after all, and having Gavin would mean they get the tank and can cut off Gemini. Not to mention, it would piss Clayton off terribly to lose his thief.

But he needs to get Michael home. They need to deal with this first. He says nothing, just meets Geoff's eyes and gives him a small nod at the other man's concern - _I'll take care of him, you know I will_ \- before turning and ushering him off, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible, away from the blood and the memories.

 

* * *

 

It feels strange returning to the house that night. Achievement City's never been a safe place, but tonight it feels like there's something darker about it, like the Lost could be lurking in every shadow, watching from every rooftop. It's a relief to get indoors - it at once feels safe and yet Ryan suddenly misses home. Misses his apartment, and Michael's, and their own base with a sick longing that he hasn't felt in a long time.

_Finish this. Not long now. Then you can go home, together - then this will all be over._

Michael is very quiet that night in the house. After he finishes showering, Ryan comes into their room to find him sitting on the bed staring vacantly at his lighter as he flicks it on, off, on, off. He sits behind him and rests his head against Michael's back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"You think we try to forget too much?" Michael asks, without turning to look at him. His voice is rough, like he's been shouting all day even though he hasn't been.

"What do you mean?"

"Both of us, we just... have a lot of shit we try and put to the back of our heads. More than most people, even in this city. Even in this job. You ever reckon it's just... not normal? How much of our lives we just don't want to think about, try to erase like it never even happened? I'm not saying it's our fault, just - maybe we shouldn't."

Ryan stiffens. For a moment he thinks of another woman's body, another woman's blood. He pushes it away - then realises that's exactly what Michael means.

"If something hurts," he says quietly, "Why dwell on it? Besides - they're things we can do nothing about, now. Why let them consume us?"

"What about Ray, then?" Michael asks, and Ryan freezes.

He's been so busy the last few days he nearly forgot about this house, and what other memories lie inside.

"What about him?" he replies, carefully. 

"All we did was try to forget him, too."

"What else can we do?" Ryan asks, stiffly - Michael's voice is so quiet and flat that, just like Gavin, it's impossible to tell what he's thinking.

Michael sighs, and throws his lighter across the room into his bag.

"Nothing," he grunts. "Not a God damn thing."

There's a strained pause. Michael's warm against Ryan's cheek, and he can feel the rise and fall of his breath.

"It's not forgetting," he says finally, slowly. "It's moving on. It's healthy to do that, or isn't that what everyone says?"

"Moving on," Michael repeats dimly, and doesn't sound like he believes it. After a moment he turns away, lying down and curling up like he's going to nap. Ryan pulls a blanket over him, and leaves him to it.

 

* * *

 

Gavin's working hard that evening, obviously pushing to get the job done as soon as possible - drawing charts and diagrams, making furious calculations.

Ryan doesn't distract him - just watches him, his head ducked in concentration, eyes intense, tongue sticking out a little with how hard he's focusing. For a moment he feels something close to grateful that he's pushing himself - just for Michael. Just to get this done a little sooner.

He ends up making dinner, ravioli with tomato sauce. Enough for all of them, but when he raps on the door and asks Gavin if he wants to eat, the other man shakes his head, even if Ryan saw how his eyes widened at the smell coming from the kitchen.

"No, um... I'm okay. Thanks though."

He sounds awkward, like he's just saying it for the sake of it.

"You sure? There's enough for three."

"Yeah, I'll make something once I've finished this. Beef ramen, yay!" he adds, with deeply unconvincing enthusiasm, and then rather skittishly turns back to his work. Ryan stares at him before turning away, stomach sinking. He wishes he'd never made that stupid comment about Gavin not paying for dinner, and leaves some in a bowl for him anyway.

He and Michael sit at the other end of the table, eating. Michael's still quiet, only piping up now and then to ask Gavin how he's going with his work, and Ryan leaves him to think. It won't help to try and get his mind off it by distracting him with conversation - not with something like this. He knows Michael well enough to know he has to think it over for a bit on his own first.

He goes to make them all drinks afterwards. Makes a hot cocoa for Gavin, even if he didn't ask, with extra cream and chocolate, and tries not to think about why he feels so guilty. He's heading back into the dining room when he pauses, hearing the other two talking - can see them through the door. Michael's moved a seat closer to Gavin, probably to see his screen - but they're not working now, just looking at each other intently. From what he can gather Gavin's asked if Michael's okay - Ryan can guess what his answer to that might've been.

"It must hurt that he was your best friend, yeah?" Gavin's saying, softly, as Ryan approaches the door. Michael's looking down, jaw clenched, but Gavin pushes on, even if he sounds a bit nervous. "That... that matters, when they're the only person there for you. I was thinking today that if it was Dan mixed up in all this, I... even if what he was doing was so bad, I don't know if I could bring myself to hurt him. Not after all we've been through together. Not when he's like my brother."

Ryan thinks Michael will ignore him - but to his surprise the other man nods, grudgingly.

"I... yeah, you're right. We were all close, all us kids, but Dodger and I were... were even closer. Maybe because we were Kant's two favourites, because we proved ourselves the most capable, but…  some of the heists we pulled together were fun. We got into some scrapes, and got out of them, too. I hate that he's back, I hate what he's doing, but he was just a kid like me. He just didn't see. He just didn't get out like I did. I tried to take him with me, but he wouldn't come."

"That sucks," Gavin murmurs. "And when people were there for you back then, you feel like you owe them something. But you don't."

Michael sighs, reaching up to rub his temples. Gavin's hand inches forward, like he's gonna touch his arm, but he ends up pulling back.

"He just reminded me what I used to be," Michael grunts finally. "A fucking monster. No matter how much I try, that'll always be true."

"I think you're a good person," Gavin says quietly.

"I'm a fucking criminal, Gavin. We both are."

"But it must have been scary to leave," Gavin murmurs. "Even if it was, you picked others over yourself. You didn't run for you. You had everything there, you weren't in danger, you were powerful and Kant would've given you more and more as your crew got bigger. So you ran for the others, the ones you were hurting, that they were hurting."

"I ran because of my own guilty fucking conscience," Michael snaps, but Gavin shakes his head.

"Your conscience tells you when you have to make a moral decision," he points out. "And you picked the right one."

Michael stares at him, and Gavin stares back, earnestly. After a moment Ryan sees something shift in Michael's face - in a good way, a dawning sort of realisation, like he believes the words. Like they touched him somehow.

Ryan slips into the room then, coming up by Michael's side and kissing the top of his head. When he gets a little grin back he feels something relax inside him. _He'll be okay_. He looks over and smiles even at Gavin - definitely grateful now, glad that someone could find the right words. That he could manage to help Michael.

Gavin looks shocked - then he smiles back, tentatively. It's quite cute, Ryan thinks, barely even realising it. Gavin's never really looked at him like that before - and his smile only widens when Ryan slides the mug across the table towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Awesome art by justisaisfine](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/162648816209/justisaisfine-commission-for-the-lovely-ever)\- I love it! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Gore/graphic violence (not inflicted on a main character), descriptions of abuse.

**xiii.** **guilty conscience**

_By the time he's seventeen Michael knows the ins and outs of a human body like the back of his own hand. He must be immune to it by now; to the stickiness of blood and the sight of red flesh, yellow fat, brains._

_It's a young police officer who changes everything. God, he must only be a few years older than Dodger, probably fresh out of the academy. Kant wants information from him, and puts Michael in charge of getting it. Between the screams the guy looks at Michael with something too close to pity._

_"He your dad, kid?" he croaks at one point, after Kant comes to check on how things are going._

_"Close enough," Michael grunts. He usually doesn't engage, but hell, maybe this is a way in._

_"Not your real one, then? Fair enough. Mine didn't want me either." A gurgling laugh. "Guess that's why I joined the force. Found family, and all that."_

_Michael freezes. And it's stupid, it's just one stupid little fucking sentence but suddenly it's not a body in front of him, it's human eyes and a human mouth and a little boy who no one loved -_ just like you _\- suddenly it’s like his eyes have opened, like he's smelling the blood for the first time-_

"What the fuck is he doing out there?"

Michael turns as Ryan walks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him back against a solid, warm chest. He gives a small smile. The nightmares were bad, but he feels better today, in the sunlight watching Gavin in the garden.

"There's a rabbit. It ran behind the shed but he's trying to get it to come out again."

Ryan's eyebrows rise. He hugs Michael against him as he peers out the window, too. Gavin's crouching in the middle of the garden, peering behind the shed, making all manner of strange cooing noises. He's got a handful of grass in one hand and is waving it around, trying to coax it out. His phone's in the other hand, ready to take a picture.

"Like a wild rabbit?" Ryan manages finally, and Michael scoffs out a laugh.

"Yeah, I think so. It's not gonna come back out, but we were watching it through the window before. Pretty cute."

"Pretty cute," Ryan murmurs back. His eyes are on Gavin, and Michael follows his gaze. There's something too innocent about the sight of him, calling out various gobbledygook pet names to the bunny. In the morning sun his hair shimmers almost blond, and he looks like a child, sitting cross-legged there on the grass. When Michael turns back to Ryan, there's a funny look on his face. He's smiling - but there's something a bit strained in it.

"You're fond of him," Ryan says.

Michael blinks. His first instinct is to deny it - but he can't, not when Ryan's warm arms are around him and he doesn't sound angry. Just knowing. And it already feels like it would be a lie. He glances at Gavin again and can't help it; there's something warm that builds in his chest when he looks at the other man.

"Before," he begins - slowly, organising his thoughts even as he speaks. He hasn't liked to think too hard about this, but he doesn't have much choice now. "He... he reminded me of something bad. I couldn't look at him without thinking of Gemini, and Gemini made me think of the Lost, and all the shit I used to do with them. But now that I know him more, it's something else. He's... sweet, I guess. I don't think he's just putting it on. He tries to make me feel better all the time about everything that's going on. He's fun to talk to. He doesn't take himself too seriously. He seems like _us_ , Ryan."

"Us?"

"Like our crew. The Fakes. Being around him feels like being around Jeremy or Lindsay or any of the others. It just feels _right."_ It takes saying it out loud to make him realise just how true it is - how once he gave Gavin a chance it just felt so comfortable so quickly. Hanging out with him is _easy_ \- and that's something rare, especially in their job. "I don't know. Maybe I'm being stupid. What do you think?"

Ryan's silent for a long moment, chewing at his lip as he stares at Gavin through the window. He looks worried, now, and Michael can tell he's struggling. Finally, he sighs.

"I'm... still figuring it out," he murmurs. "We can talk about it later."

"Yeah?" Michael raises an eyebrow and runs a hand down Ryan's arm. He doesn't like the strained look on Ryan's face. It's the same look he's seen when the other man wakes in the night, when one of Michael's jobs runs longer than expected, when a heist starts to go badly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan murmurs, and gives a small smile. "Just... thinking hard about things."

"What sort of things?"

"Free," Ryan says, nodding out the window, "And if we can trust him, and some... some stuff I've noticed about him. Anyway - we have work to do. But we'll talk about it tonight, I promise."

Michael frowns, unconvinced that that's really all this is - but Ryan's already moving away to go and make his breakfast, and Michael turns back to the window. Gavin seems to have given up on the rabbit; he rises and turns towards the house, freezing when he notices Michael looking at him through the window. After a moment, he gives a smile. It's shy - but genuine, now, and seems to come more easily than it ever did before. Michael smiles back, and the second he does he realises, fuck. His is too real, too. Means too much.

And the weird thing is - he wants Gavin to like him.

He couldn't give two shits what most people think of him. But somehow, over the last week... after hearing about all Gavin's adventures, his heists and reckless thieving jobs, after laughing together, after malicious mocking turned into friendly jabs and teasing... he wants the other man's admiration, too. Wants him to think well of him. Gavin's funny - remarkably witty when he's not being quiet and nervous, with a ridiculous imagination and a self-deprecating humour that Michael appreciates.

He doesn't want Gavin to hate him. To see him as scary, or a monster, or someone who'll hurt him. And he hopes Gavin doesn't - not now, at least - not any more than Michael sees him as nothing more than Gemini's tool, as wicked as the rest of them. No, he's past that - something else is going on here, something he wants to figure out.

Either way - he and Ryan definitely need to talk about this. He doesn't feel this way often, with people. It feels different to Geoff or Burnie or any of the other Fakes. He never wants them so much - to be around them. To be close to them. Not since Ryan, really. Not since Ray.

He beckons Gavin inside, maybe a bit too eagerly, and tries not to think about how he watches him as he gets up. How he likes how lithe and graceful Gavin is as he rises, how pretty he looks in the sunlight, how green his eyes seem now he's not wearing his glasses all the time. Noticing too much, liking too much, everything moving too-fast, too-fast.

 

* * *

 

No matter how cold or confusing things get outside, in bed with Ryan Michael feels warm, and safe.

It's the dead of night, but neither of them can sleep. Tomorrow Gavin is going to run through the plan with them. He was up working late tonight - they could hear him for a long time, shuffling around in the other room, the clicking of his keyboard as he typed, could see the light in the sitting room still on - but since then things have gone dark and quiet and still, and Michael assumes he's asleep.

Unlike the two of them - the dim glow of the bedside lamp makes the room feel cosy, reminds him of other late nights back at his flat when the two of them would fall into bed after a heist, still buzzing with adrenaline and unable to wind down, or those first few evenings after they got together when they still had so much to talk about and would be up until three in the morning just talking, excited to be getting closer to one another. Whispered conversations delving into topics too deep for daylight. Their pasts, their pains, their fears.

Now Ryan is warm next to him. He has one hand flung over Michael's middle, tracing idle patterns across his stomach, fingers running easily over every scar he has memorised by now. They've been talking about Gavin since he went to bed.

"Do you trust him?" Ryan asks now.

"I shouldn't," Michael admits, and bites his lip. "But... I think I do."

He hears Ryan draw a shaky breath next to him.

"He told me something the other day. That he isn't getting paid by Gemini."

"What?" Michael sits up a bit, startled, but Ryan tugs him gently back down against his side. "That's fucked up - he doesn't get a cut from all those heists he pulls?"

"Apparently not. He said it was complicated - but I... I think he has a contract with Clayton that's gone on longer than he'd like, and he can't leave their crew until it runs down."

"So he joined them before he realised what they were like?"

"That's what I figure, at least," Ryan replies, and shrugs. “He wouldn't say much about it. But it would explain a lot. If it's true - and I don't know for sure - it'd make it far more likely that we can trust him.”

Michael hums, thoughtfully. It makes sense. Gavin doesn't seem to want to be part of Gemini, and after everything he's said, Michael doubts it's a simple lack of caring about what they do that keeps him there. Clearly he does care. Clearly he doesn't like it, and he's not the sort of person who'd just stand by if he could easily leave. So there must be something else.

"The Harts would never just let us buy his contract," he points out. "Not when he's so valuable. We'll have to just offer him a job once it's up. If we're right about him, he'll take it."

"Doesn't solve the problem of what we'll do if Gemini decides to turn on us beforehand," Ryan points out. "You might trust him, Michael - hell, I might too - but if things go the way I'm expecting them to, we won't be on the same side after we deal with the Lost. And right now I'm not sure what Gavin will do if he ends up in that position. I don't want us to be unsure what we'll do, either."

Michael bites his lip, uncomfortable. Ryan has a point. He has no idea what they can do about it, though.

"What if we talk to him about it beforehand? Ask him what Gemini's planning?"

Ryan scoffs.

"As if he'll fucking tell us. He's not a traitor, even if he doesn't like them."

"He likes us, I think-"

"Enough to betray Clayton? The Harts? Enough to break a contract for us? He might like us but do you think he _trusts_ us? God, Michael, have you seen how he flinches all the time? Even if we're getting along better, he still sees us as a threat. And if we were smart, we'd see him as one, too."

"But you don't want to," Michael points out, and knows he's struck a nerve when Ryan shifts away from him, staring up at the ceiling instead. Michael reaches out and squeezes his leg. "Ryan? You don't want him to be one, do you?"

There's a long pause. Ryan doesn't speak, but that's answer enough, and he doesn't move away when Michael rests his head on his shoulder.

"Did you get to know him, the other day?" Michael whispers. "I know you two avoid each other in the house."

"I don't think he likes me," Ryan grunts.

"Because you're so reserved! _He_ probably thinks you dislike _him_." He pokes Ryan's thigh until he squirms away. "I know you don't."

Ryan sighs, chewing his lip.

"You know I... I don't like getting close to new people," he says finally, grudgingly. There's a tightness in his voice that makes Michael stop prodding him and sit up a bit, falling quiet and serious. "When you care for someone, when you trust them... it becomes a risk. It makes it easy to get hurt. So you have to be... careful."

It's an attitude that Michael knows comes from how badly he's been hurt before -  one that made it take a very long time for Ryan to let him in, too. To enter a relationship with him, one that even had him pushing Michael away at one point. That'd been a rollercoaster of a time.

But that was the two of them, and all their deeper feelings - their knowledge that they wanted something _more._

"But making new friends is different," he points out. "You're close to the whole crew. When we make new hires, get new informants - you don't mind being friendly with them."

"Right," Ryan says a bit awkwardly. "Yeah."

"So why should that matter?" Michael asks, and maybe there's something a bit too demanding in his voice, maybe he's just a bit too invested in this. Because he wants to know - if Ryan maybe sees something in Gavin too, something that Michael's slowly, almost subconsciously, been realising over the last few days. Something too close to the two of them, that makes him connect in a way most others can't. Sometimes, in Gavin's eyes, he sees a kinship. Like he's a lost boy too, a runaway, scared of his own reflection.

It draws him in, makes him want to get closer and closer. Makes him feel like he did when he first recognised that familiarity in Ryan. Moth to flame, ready to burn.

Ryan doesn't answer, but Michael can see his hesitation. He remembers those early days with Ray, and the hesitance - the shy opening up - how the two of them had been scared to speak about it at first, but when they finally did, when they realised what they all wanted-

God, they'd been so _ready._

But Ryan had been terrified then, as well. It'd been hard enough to let himself have Michael. Adding another person to the mix had been even scarier. One more person to lose. One more way to get hurt.

He pushes those thoughts away. It's nothing to do with that. Ray was different. Ray was... something else, not like this.

Instead he sits up a bit, stretching. His limbs ache with the particular exhaustion that only comes with being awake so many hours in a row, and he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Well," he says then. "One step towards knowing their plan is bugging his bag, right? I picked up the device when I was over at Geoff's the other night. He's asleep now, yeah?"

Ryan nods.

"Yeah - he is. God, in all the commotion I nearly forgot that was our plan. Good idea. We can figure out Clayton's plan without making him have to choose. Might be able to figure out if we really can trust him, too."

Michael gives a small smile. He slips out of the room and pads down the corridor towards Gavin's door. It's shut, and he pauses a moment. All's silent inside, and he opens the door carefully, moving as quietly as possible.

It's dark inside, but he can make out Gavin in the bed, a little curled shape right up in one corner. He doesn't so much as stir when Michael creeps in. His breathing is so silent that for a moment Michael pauses, checking to make sure his chest actually is rising and falling. But he’s fine - just soundly asleep, must be fucking exhausted, and it's easy for Michael to tiptoe around the bed and grab his backpack off the floor, carrying it silently back out again.

He takes it to the living room and opens one of the front pockets. It feels like careful surgery as he grabs scissors, cuts a neat line inside the bag, and slips the bug between the lining of the backpack and its actual material before sewing it up again. His stitches are small and neat and once it's all closed up, there's no way Gavin will ever notice the bag was tampered with. Michael pulls out his phone and checks the bug - all working.

_Now we'll know,_ he thinks, and feels something oddly nervous flicker deep in his gut. He can't help but wonder what it might be like when Clayton and Gavin are alone. If they might fight, if Gavin will snap at him or if he'll just be quiet and polite as always. One thing’s for sure, it won’t be like him and Ryan with Geoff. Not close like that. Not comfortable. He doesn’t know why he feels so uneasy suddenly, like they’ve crossed a line with this, like everything they’ve been building slowly is going to come to a head. Like things are going to change. Like the truth is something he doesn’t want to hear.

He shakes it off, and rises, heading back to Gavin’s room and sneaking back in to replace his bag just where he left it.  For a moment as he sets it down, Gavin stirs, murmuring, and Michael freezes, afraid he’s woken up.

But Gavin just shifts, making himself more comfortable and tugging the blankets up around him, and moments later he’s asleep again.

_You should go. Get out now while you can. It’s fucking creepy to stand here watching him sleep, anyway_. But for a moment he can’t move - for a moment all he can do is stand there, looking at him.

Gavin looks too innocent asleep, too young, with his long lashes and his hair falling across his forehead. It isn’t until Michael looks at him now - relaxed at last, all the stress gone from his face and shoulders - that he realises just how tense he is every other second, like he’s constantly pulled taut and doesn’t let himself slacken even an inch.

_Poor thing._ He doesn’t know why it crosses his mind, a sudden surge of sympathy - why suddenly he feels like there’s something wrong here. The edges of the room too dark, the shadows dangerous, Gavin’s form seeming suddenly tiny, curled in that one corner of the bed. He feels very cold, and shakes himself, finally managing to move - eager to get back to the warmth, and Ryan, and the comforting glow of their own room, even if it feels suddenly odd to leave Gavin behind there in the dark.

 

* * *

 

**xiv. sweethearts and shadows**

_He's meant to have drinks with Hanson after finishing this job._

_It was the other man who asked him - with a twinkle in his blue eyes, a cheeky smile, his hand trailing innocently along Gavin's wrist as he came up by his side. Gavin had felt shy under his gaze, felt his cheeks heat and his heart skip a beat. And this crew's been fun so far - he doesn't often work with the same group for more than one job. It's nice to feel wanted._

_But on the television - he sees the fire, hears the sirens, can sense the panic and commotion the explosion caused. And they were behind it - he knew they were planning a hit today, in the city centre, but there weren't meant to be casualties. Not like this. Brutal - nightmarish - and in his hand, the phone, the casual text message._

_Still on for tonight? ;)_

_No remorse, not an ounce of regret._ You have to get out of here. _He still has three more jobs he's meant to plan, but he knows right away that he's not going to answer. That he's not going to have a second more of contact with these people, and his hands are shaking as he picks up the phone and calls Dan. He can't finish this, can't stay here one second more, needs to remove himself, and Dan will know what to do, he always does, turns out he's the only bloody person around here Gavin can remotely rely on-_

"They're going to be on high alert after our last hit." 

Gavin's been working as hard as he can for the last two days, and it's paid off. This afternoon he finally finished putting all the pieces of his plan in place. They're just about ready to go.

"So,” he continues, “We need to destroy these weapons before they can strike back."

Michael and Ryan lean across the table to look at the map he's drawn up, determined and listening intently. It's nice to feel as though they aren't second guessing him anymore - they really do feel like a team, and even if Gavin's exhausted, with a headache and dry eyes and everything feeling too heavy, it keeps him focused too. 

They've been monitoring the base since their attack, and it doesn't seem like the explosives were taken anywhere - but it's hard to tell for sure. They still haven't found the tank.

"Just before dawn is when they'll be most complacent," he continues. "They'll think they've gotten through the night safely. We'll approach on foot - it'll make it harder to escape quickly if things go wrong, but it's the best way to get close unnoticed. The darkest part of the wall - here - is where I'll climb over. Now, the weather forecast says there'll be a storm in two days' time, and that should give us the cover we need. Even if there isn't, the power outage I cause shouldn't put them on high alert just yet. It'll take them long enough to get it all back on that we'll have time to put the main part of our plan into action. Did Ramsey get you the night vision scopes?"

"I'll be grabbing them from him tomorrow," Ryan grunts.

"Good. In the dark, you and Michael take out the guards on the wall - silently. I'll lower a rope ladder and you'll join me up top. We'll get to where they're keeping the ordnance and set charges on it. There's no way we can get it all out in time, so we might as well stop them using it. But we'll still take the drugs - that's Gemini's half of the deal - and then we'll set charges on all their cars." His finger shifts to a car park at the back of the base, where they snuck in earlier.

"There was a big truck in there last time. While you're loading up the drugs, I'll hotwire it and we'll use it to get out. As they give chase, we blow the cars. Should take out most of them."

There's a long pause. Gavin waits, glancing tentatively at their faces.

There are parts of this plan he was careful with. At no point should all three of them separate, except for the initial entry. No opportunities for anyone to sneak off, to turn on anyone else, to leave someone behind. That's for his own safety. He doesn't want another situation like last time. It also ensures no one can double cross each other - not just yet, at least.

Ryan and Michael glance at each other, then nod. When they turn to him they're smiling, and Gavin's shoulders slump in relief. Even if they've been getting on better lately, some part of him was still worried that they'd disapprove of the plan. Find ways to nitpick or accuse him of trying to betray them.

But no - they seem genuinely pleased, and after a moment he manages to grin, too.

"Sounds thorough," Michael announces then. "And we've got backup escape plans in case it all somehow goes to shit?"

"Of course," Gavin says, and passes them the maps. "Three alternate routes we can take out, if we need to. Hopefully it won't come to that."

"These look great," Michael says, and Gavin looks down, a shy little smile tugging at his lips. "Hey, good job."

"Thanks," he whispers.

Ryan moves past him, and he jumps a little - but he's just going to the wine cabinet and grabbing a bottle and three glasses.

"We'll drink to this," Ryan announces, and Gavin gives a startled laugh as he plonks the glasses down and pours a measure in each. "No more fuck ups - from anyone. We work together on this."

"Agreed," Michael says, giving him a fond look as he grabs his own glass and raises it. "To Gavin's cunning plan, taking down these bastards, and blowing shit up!"

"Cheers," Ryan says, and clinks his glass against Michael's. Gavin picks his own up shyly and can only giggle when Michael knocks theirs together hard enough that the liquid splashes a little. 

"Bottoms up!" he roars, and knocks his drink back. Gavin drinks more slowly. He feels warm all over, a flush of pleasure at how proud they both seem. He's never had that before - and they're both grinning at him now, even Ryan smiling. He's happy - but he doesn't know what to think, and tries to just let himself enjoy the moment as Michael rattles around in the cupboard, grabbing more bottles, already beginning to tell some sort of raucous story about Ramsey and his drinking habits.

 

* * *

 

It's getting late, but Gavin can't sleep.

By all accounts, things are going very well. Even Clayton was pleased with the plan, if the sunglasses emojis and thumbs up in his text message were anything to go by - Gavin hadn't wanted to call him, didn't want to have to hear his voice - and Michael treated them all to gyros and beer for dinner. They still have one day to prepare before the hit.

But things are going almost _too_ well - as the evening wore on, Gavin had started to feel more and more anxious. 

_You might've forgotten something, like you did that first time - slipped up and made some mistake that'll ruin everything. They're happy with you now, but if this plan gets fucked up they'll hate you again. They'll be even angrier if they think they wasted their time on you. If something goes wrong, if something goes wrong..._

It's nearly midnight, now, and he's still sitting on the couch running over the plan, again and again, checking and double checking. His stomach's buzzing with a churning nervousness. 

He hears the others' bedroom door open, and looks up in time to see Michael emerge with a bag of laundry. He nods at Gavin as he passes him to throw it in the washing machine, and Gavin turns back to his revision. He feels eyes on him, though, and when he looks up, Michael's hovering by the couch, staring at him.

"Everything okay?" Gavin asks, and Michael raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm fine. How about you?"

"Just checking the plan over. I don't want to miss something." Gavin looks down, biting his lip. After a moment he blurts out, "I don't want things to go wrong. Not again."

Michael's face softens. He sits on the couch next to Gavin and reaches out - slowly enough that this time, Gavin doesn't flinch. His hand settles gently on Gavin's arm, squeezing lightly. It's nice, even if it is unexpected. He has to fight not to lean into the touch.

"Hey," Michael says, with surprising tenderness. "It's a good plan - a really good one. Things won't go wrong. If they do, we'll fix it. I saw how much work you put into it. And I appreciate it - I know you had to work hard to get this done so quickly. I know you did it because of that... that stupid knife and the body, the message they tried to send. Thank you."

He sounds sincere, and Gavin peeks up at him.

"It's fine," he replies, with a little smile. "I know how hard this is. I want to deal with them, too."

"Your plan is good. Better than anything we'd have come up with. Don't sit up all night stressing over it, okay?"

His hand runs down Gavin's arm as he pulls it away, and Gavin fights a shiver. It's a gentle, intimate sort of touch, and it makes something too-warm spread through his chest.

_Don't be stupid. He doesn't mean anything by it - not like that._

"I just don't want to mess this up," he whispers, and Michael shakes his head.

"You won't. And I promise, we won't blame you if this goes wrong somehow."

That makes it a little easier to breathe. Michael must notice the relief in his face; he looks almost upset suddenly, but doesn't say anything about it. Just shifts a little closer to Gavin on the couch and reaches out, taking the tablet from him and laying it aside.

"You should sleep soon. You look exhausted."

"I will," Gavin assures him, and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Need to unwind a bit first. I might make some tea. Are you and Ryan about to go to bed?"

"He's already sleeping." Michael's smile is fond and Gavin feels a tinge of something almost like jealousy. It must be nice, the two of them, having each other to go back to at night. "And Gavin - what happened last time? It won't happen again."

"What?"

"Ryan leaving you behind. We'll stick together on this one. We're a team, even if you're not from our crew. So you don't have to worry about that."

God - how did he know? Something else eases in Gavin's shoulders, and he gives a small smile.

"That's good to know."

"I mean it. And I won't do something stupid like last time. I've had time to think about it. He's not my brother anymore. The kid I used to be, he died when I ran away. This time I won't hesitate." There's something in the way Michael says it that makes Gavin wonder who he's really trying to reassure here; Gavin or himself. "I know it... it might be easier said than fucking done, but I told Geoff I wouldn't pull out on this job and I meant it."

"It's nice he offered you the chance to pull out," Gavin murmurs. "Some people aren't as kind."

"Geoff isn't some people," Michael replies, but raises an eyebrow at him. "But why do I get the feeling you're speaking from experience?"

Gavin shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. He knows Michael's trying to prod for more answers about why he stays with Gemini - and it's been a week, a week of smiles and laughter and sharing stories and God, he wants to share everything, he wants Michael to know. To see what’s going on, to help him.

_If this job goes well,_ he thinks - _if this job goes well, he'll know you're useful. They'll both like you. Maybe then you can tell them. Maybe then they'd be willing to help you, to try and get you over with the Fakes instead._

"I... back in England," he says instead, because that's a story he doesn't mind sharing. "The last job I took was for a guy called Hanson. It's the reason I had to flee the country. I broke the contract, I skipped out before finishing my part, and he wasn't happy. He put a big price on my head and came after me."

"Shit - that's a lot of effort just for a thief leaving a job early."

Gavin's lips twist, wryly.

"He... took it personally. We had a date for after the job was finished."

"Date?" Michael asks, and his eyes widen. "Oh shit, you mean like a _date_ -date?"

"Yeah. Guess he thinks I led him on or stood him up or some shit like that."

"How long had you been working together? And why did you do it? You've left a lot of things in this story unanswered!" Michael sounds genuinely interested, and it's gratifying - that someone cares. The only other person he's told about this is Clayton - who he assumes told the Harts - and he still remembers what the other man said. _Well maybe I should you ship right back to the bastard, then, let him do what he wants with you. Better not piss me off, huh? Ha ha ha!_

"A couple of jobs. We got on pretty well, so I didn't mind the thought. Actually, that's not quite right. I was excited about it. I don't get out much, so I... not many people ever really showed interest, like that." It's a bit embarrassing to admit, and he sees Michael's eyebrows shoot up.

"Wait, are you saying you've never dated anyone before?"

"Not really? I mean, a few times people asked me... or I thought I might... but nothing ever came of it. So no, I guess not." He feels his cheeks heat a bit. "Since graduating school I was super busy with jobs and I kept to myself a lot. Never had the chance. Or maybe no one was interested."

"Definitely not that," Michael scoffs, so matter-of-factly that Gavin blushes for an entirely different reason. "You're not bad looking. And you're funny."

"Thanks?"

"God. How old are you again?"

"Twenty-five." It's embarrassing, and it must show on his face, because Michael smiles.

"Hey - no shame in that. I mean, when you're a criminal and spending your days planning heists, I can see how the opportunities wouldn't exactly come in abundance. Besides, relationships aren’t everything. Married to your work, huh?"

"I guess," Gavin says, and smiles a bit ruefully. "So when Hanson asked, I was eager, I guess. I thought he was an okay guy. He was funny, and his crew was powerful, and it was flattering that a gang boss would take an interest in me. But then he... he pulled this job. I knew he was going to rob a bank - hell, I helped him plan it - but I didn't realise he planned to set a bomb off in the middle of the bloody street. It started a fire. People died. And he didn't give two shits. I told you before, I don't like killing anything - I'm just a thief, I've never really attacked anyone before. So it was... was shocking, to see the... the body count I guess."

Michael nods. There's a gentle understanding in his eyes, and _of course_ , Gavin thinks. That's exactly why he ran too, isn't it? The fucking body count.

"So I left. Didn't know what to say to him. But he didn't take me running off too kindly. Came after me - harder and harder, and made a lot of very scary threats, and eventually I left the whole damn country just to get away from him. Hoped it'd blow over. But it didn't."

"Jesus," Michael breathes, and Gavin scoffs out a bit of a laugh, fidgeting awkwardly.

"Yeah. So that's the story of the one guy who was ever into me! Bit pathetic, innit."

"Not at all. That sucks. God, you fled the country because one asshole wouldn't let go of something like that? That's horrifying. I'm sorry."

Gavin shrugs a bit, picking at the edge of the couch cushion. When he looks up Michael's eyes are genuinely concerned - genuinely angry, but not at Gavin. On his behalf.

_If he reacts like that to your story - surely he'd help you if he knew about Gemini. Surely he would._

_Right?_

He shakes it off. He'll think about it after the job.

"Did you date many people before Ryan?" he asks, a little shyly.

Michael just shrugs. Apparently he's got no qualms about sharing his secrets too, now.

"A few, but never for very long. Didn't work out - I was too fucked up to trust anyone. And before me, Ryan... Ryan only had the one. They were childhood sweethearts."

"God," Gavin whispers - from what he's put together, that must have hurt a lot. He can't even imagine. No wonder there's that deep pain in Ryan's eyes, a sadness that never quite seems to go away, even in his brightest moments. Even around Michael. He can't imagine how their relationship manages alongside it - or maybe he's just too stupid, too naive, too unfamiliar with love. "And that other person you mentioned? How long ago was that?"

Michael's spine stiffens.

"Just over a year ago," he replies. "Fuck, it was in this damn safehouse that we fell for him. That we all started to get so close."

"Are you over him?"

Gavin doesn't know why he asks. Curiosity, maybe. Or again - a pang a little too close to jealousy. That here in these very rooms where Gavin himself is only just starting to feel at home, another got close to these men who he's so desperate to befriend. Another succeeded. Another was loved by them.

_Not that that's what you want. Don't be stupid._

Michael looks down. Gavin worries he's upset him - but after a moment Michael starts laughing. Low, humourless, scoffing chuckles.

"Over him," he replies, and reaches up, rubbing his hands over his face. As he tilts his head back, in the orange lamplight, Gavin suddenly wants to touch him. His soft cheeks and hair, the freckles on his face. He shakes himself. "God, that's funny."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. How do you get over an almost?"

Gavin stares at him, confused, and after a moment Michael lowers his hands and stares at him. His eyes aren't angry, but there's something in them - something deep and unsettled.

"Because that's what he was," he continues, "An _almost._ Nothing ever happened. Nothing ever came of it."

"I... I don't understand," Gavin manages, and Michael gives a heavy sigh. His hands are braced against his knees now, clenching in the soft fabric of his pajama pants.

"Neither do I," he says roughly, and takes a deep, shaky breath. "His name was Ray. He was a freelance sniper, but he did more and more jobs with the Fakes until he was practically part of the crew. We got along really well with him - Ryan and I. Used to go around his apartment, or he'd come to ours. We told him shit we never really told anyone else. We just - _clicked_. It's hard to explain, but when you feel it with someone... you know. It just feel easy."

He hesitates, staring at Gavin for a long moment, something thoughtful in it. Gavin shifts nervously.

"Sounds like you really liked him," he murmurs awkwardly, and Michael rolls his eyes.

"That's a damn understatement. We loved him. We talked about it - how much we both wanted him. We talked to him about it, too. About... about what it might be like as a three. Nothing explicit, but he must've known. It seemed like he wanted it, too. And here in this house - we were so happy. We were about to ask him properly, when we got back to the main base, back to the rest of the crew."

"So what happened?" Gavin asks softly, and for a moment a terrible pain passes across Michael's face. He looks down at his hands, lips twisting, like he's trying to smile but his face just won't do it.

"He ghosted us," he says bitterly.

"What?"

"He fucking _ghosted_ us."

Gavin stares at him, then shakes his head.

"I... I don't know what that means."

"He took a few freelance jobs away from the crew and we stayed in touch for a couple weeks via text and phone calls. Ryan and I had pretty much decided we were gonna ask him out when he came back. We had a date all set to meet up - didn't tell him it was a date, it was just a hangout like we always had. But something came up with his work, and he had to cancel."

"And then?"

"Then _we_ got busy, and we didn't talk for two weeks, and when we texted him after that he... his replies were..." Michael shakes his head in frustration. "You know when you can just tell someone doesn't want to talk to you, even if they're not being rude or mean or anything, they just - they're curt, or something in their tone, you just... you can _tell_ they don't want to hold a conversation?"

Gavin nods, biting his lip. _Basically my entire school life,_ he thinks, rather bitterly.

"It was like that. And he never took jobs for the Fakes again, was constantly off around the rest of the country. Eventually when we started asking him to meet up or if something was wrong, he just straight-up ignored the messages. He wasn't around, so we couldn't meet up with him in person, so we just... didn't know what to do." Michael squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and Gavin suddenly wants to reach out to him, to press his arm, to tell him he can't imagine why anyone would do that. Not to him and Ryan. Not to the two of them, when they're so beautiful, so kind, when he'd give anything to have them want him instead.

"So you just never heard from him again?" he asks, aghast, and Michael nods.

"Pretty much. We know he's alive - Geoff keeps tabs on him and he recommends snipers in the area for our jobs - but he won't answer our messages and we don't want to pester him. It's just... _bizarre,_ because we didn't have a fight. We didn't ask him out yet. We were really close, even if we weren't dating. So we have no idea what happened - if he figured out we liked him and didn't know how to turn us down, if we misread everything all along. If we annoyed him somehow. No fucking clue! That's the worst part."

"Seems like an asshole move to me," Gavin mutters, "He could at least give you a goodbye if he wasn't coming back. Does he talk to the others in your crew?"

"He was never as close to them as us. Geoff and Jack, occasionally, for work stuff. Ryan and I told them all not to ask him what happened." Michael shrugs. He smiles now, but it's small and faint. "You asked if I was over him. I guess I am, after a fucking year, but... I'm not over not-knowing. I don't know. Maybe we just... assumed he'd be fine with being part of a group of three when actually we totally weirded him out. We'd talked about it, though, so... no fucking idea."

"It's mysterious," Gavin says softly. Then, "I'm sorry that happened. It must suck. Even aside from wanting to date him... he was your friend, yeah? Someone you told things to, things you wouldn't normally tell people. You must miss him."

Michael's face crumples a little.

"I do," he says, and turns away for a moment, shoulders heaving as he takes a deep breath. "I do. But he's not an asshole, I just don't know what happened. Maybe we hurt him somehow, or something happened we don't know about."

_Fair enough_ , Gavin thinks, but can't help his grudging resentment towards this mystery Ray for hurting these men even more.

He tentatively reaches out and touches Michael’s wrist - expecting the other man to yank his arm away, but he doesn’t. Just shifts closer to Gavin on the couch and leans against him.

“So that’s _our_ drama,” he announces, and Gavin barks out a startled laugh.

“That sucks,” he says. “It really does. I’m sorry.”

Michael shrugs.

“Yeah, but what can you do about it. I still have Ryan. I’m very lucky, in that regard.”

“Yeah,” Gavin whispers, thinking of how the two of them made up after their fight, about the long nights they stay up talking - he can see the light under their door from his own room across the hall - about their easy touches and fond smile. “The two of you are… good.”

Michael turns to him, and for a moment that fond smile is shining on him instead.

“Ryan would say I shouldn’t have told you all that, in case you somehow use it against us. But I don’t think you would, so - thanks for listening.”

Gavin had tensed - but Michael’s smiling so warmly that after a moment he relaxes, and smiles back, and realises it’s _him,_ now, having those deep conversations in the middle of the night - because they’ve both shared secrets here, both made themselves vulnerable, and he feels suddenly much closer to Michael because of it.

 

* * *

 

Michael’s out of the house, refuelling the cars when Ryan comes back home the next day. It was meant to be a quick and easy trip back to the Fakes’ base to pick up the last of the equipment they needed - so when Gavin hears him crashing around, swearing and banging doors open and shut after he comes in, it’s a bit of a shock.

“Fuck,” he hears dimly from Ryan’s room, and hunches up on the couch. He sounds angry, and for a second all his old fears come flooding back in. “Shit, God damn it - _Gavin!_ ”

The sound of his own name makes him jump. Stomach churning, he carefully puts his things down and hurries into the bedroom. The door to the ensuite is flung open and he inches towards it, worried. 

Ryan’s standing next to the sink, struggling to get his shirt off. Gavin gasps a little when he sees him; he’s scraped and bleeding, and there are angry dark bruises down his side and his arm.

“What happened?” he asks, and Ryan manages to wrestle free from his shirt and throw it to the ground, turning to look at him. His mask’s off, but his face is a mess of paint. It looks like a child’s bad attempt at finger painting. Ryan looks annoyed, but it’s not the same cold fury Gavin’s seen from him before, and the knot in his stomach untwists a little.

“Grab me the first aid kit, will you?” he asks, and Gavin nods quickly, scurrying to the other bathroom to grab it. By the time he gets back, Ryan’s washed his face - or attempted to. It is now a strange, washed-out grey colour, and Gavin has to stifle a hysterical laugh.

“Sit down,” he says softly, pulling down the toilet lid and opening the first aid kit nearby. Ryan hesitates - but then he sits, turning so Gavin can get at the worst of the bleeding scrapes. “What happened? Was it the Lost?”

“No, just some other assholes in our territory. Think it might’ve been some of the Corpirate’s lot. I was on the way back from the base when they came after me on bikes. Took them out pretty quickly but fell off my bike while I was twisting to shoot them because of that stupid fucking lightrail they’re building. They’ve blocked off half the roads in the city!”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about and I hate it,” Gavin replies. “It’s ruined public transport in the North-West.”

“I know. Nothing seems to be built but a new street’s closed off every day, damn it.” Ryan scowls, and flinches a little when Gavin swabs at the scrapes. Nothing looks too serious - just annoying, and painful, and a big fucking inconvenience the day before a job.

“Are you okay? Did you tell Geoff what happened?”

“I’m fine. Had far worse than this, and nothing’s broken. And yeah - pretty routine for us, there’s always someone willing to try their luck taking out one of the Fakes. Big prices on our heads, after all.”

Gavin nods. He turns to grab bandages and things devolve into a very, very awkward silence. He’s trying to be as gentle as he can, dabbing Ryan’s arm carefully, cleaning the blood away, smoothing ointment over the scrapes with feather-light fingers.

“Heard _you_ had a price on your head back in England,” Ryan says abruptly. “That’s not what you said before, when we were talking about why you left.”

Gavin looks up at him with wide eyes. _Michael must have told him all about our conversation last night_ , he realises - _of course he would._

“Yeah,” he replies in a small voice. “It… it seemed a bit personal to bring up.” _I didn’t trust you then, not enough to share._ “I wasn’t lying when I said I hated England. I’d been planning to leave, but this pushed me to do it in a rush. I’ve been keeping track of how things in England are going, but recently I just got too… busy. So hopefully he’s gotten over it by now and maybe I can go back one day.”

He braces himself, expecting to be snapped at - _you lied to me, you told me one thing and Michael another, how can we trust you -_ but Ryan just stares at him, steadily.

“Faking your own death can work wonders, too,” he replies finally, and Gavin can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not. He laughs a bit nervously.

“Michael told you a lot last night,” Ryan continues, and Gavin bites his lip, worried - but Ryan nudges his arm gently until he meets his eyes. He doesn’t look angry. Concerned, yes, guarded, a little - but not angry. “I’m not mad. I think it helps him to get it out sometimes, to tell someone who doesn’t know the people involved. Better than bottling it up. Thanks for listening.”

“Oh,” Gavin replies. “It’s fine.”

Ryan smiles a little, but seems to force it away quickly. He turns away - but suddenly Gavin doesn’t want their talk to be over that fast. Ryan’s a tough egg to crack, but the way he is with Michael… gentle, and sweet, and funny - Gavin wants to get through to that, suddenly. Wants to see if these people really will help him - if they’ll let him share their warmth, just a little.

“You got shot,” he says, and points to a scar on Ryan’s shoulder, close to where he’s cleaning. “Was that from after you joined the Fakes?”

“Just before, actually. Assassination attempt gone wrong. Was actually from the crew I was working with - asshole had no trigger discipline, fired his gun behind me.”

“If only friendly fire could be turned off in real life,” Gavin says, and is surprised when Ryan lets out a genuine laugh at that. A moment later he looks uncomfortable - like he hadn’t meant to.

“Were you scared?” he asks. “When you got shot.”

“No,” Ryan replies, and scoffs. “Can’t be scared of guns in our business. Can’t be scared of getting hurt.”

“But weren’t you scared of dying? Of what might be after.”

Something passes across Ryan’s face - something uncomfortable that suddenly makes Gavin think that’s something he’s thought of entirely too much. 

“Are you scared of dying?” he fires back, and Gavin bites his lip, looks down.

“I’m scared of everything,” he whispers, and returns his attention to bandaging. A moment later Ryan grabs his wrist, and he gasps - but Ryan just turns his arm over, thumb running over a wide, bumpy scar across Gavin’s forearm.

“Not so unscarred yourself,” he points out, and Gavin feels his heart rate pick up. “What happened here? Is this a burn? It doesn’t look that old.”

Gavin remembers exactly what happened. Clayton caught him trying to lift car keys from one of the security guards around Gemini’s base and held his arm against the stovetop to teach him a lesson. It was his first and only attempt to escape. He wonders what Ryan would say if he told him that. If he’d be shocked. If he’d be sympathetic. If he’d threaten Clayton. If he’d demand Gavin tell him everything else that’s happened.

_If he’d help you._

His chest tightens. He can’t speak, and the silence has stretched on too long, and with every second that passes it becomes harder and harder to find the words. He doesn’t want to lie. But he just can’t- 

It’s been so long- 

He doesn’t _know_ -

_After this job. That’s what you decided. If this job goes well, you’ll tell them. You’ll ask them. You’ll offer to work with them instead, in exchange for protection. Stick to what you already decided._

“A job went wrong,” he whispers, because it’s technically the truth. “I… I got caught. We all get injured in this business. We all have scars.”

He knows Ryan doesn’t believe him. The other man’s eyebrow rises, but he’s not stupid, and Gavin took too long to answer, and is refusing to look at him besides. He doesn’t let go of his arm, just stares at Gavin for a long moment. Like he’s waiting for something more.

“Stand up for yourself more,” he says finally, almost curtly. 

“Wh-what?”

“I said stand up for yourself more,” Ryan repeats, and something in Gavin tightens angrily.

“That’s easy to say when you’re the biggest, scariest guy in the room,” he points out defensively, and Ryan looks almost sheepish. He lets go of him and Gavin snatches his hand back, and lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. It’s taking all his strength not to tremble, not to breathe too fast.

For a moment, Ryan looks nearly embarrassed. Then he looks down, his fists clenching, and rises so abruptly that Gavin jumps backwards. Ryan looks at him for a long moment.

“You deserve better than what you let people get away with,” he says, and sweeps out of the room before Gavin can even really process the words. Gavin stares after him, confused and shaken and completely fucking unsure where they stand with each other. He swallows - there’s a lump in his throat and he isn’t sure when it started - and turns to wash his hands, looking in the mirror as he goes. His own pale face stares back at him and he feels weak, and small, and scared, and like he wants too much he knows he can’t have.

 

* * *

 

**xv. night terrors**

_Michael remembers how they used to psyche themselves up before a big job, getting dressed in the bathroom together - leathers and body armour and finally strapping their knives to their belts, like putting on costumes ready for a show. No more dress rehearsals. The real thing, now._

_They used to paint each other's faces, wild red and black streaks. Erratic, jagged designs that looked like scars in the right light. He remembers how Dodger's face felt different every year as they grew up grew up grew up, as baby fat turned to sharp cheekbones and defined jawlines, he remembers the first time he felt stubble under his fingers, remembers how it felt to swipe paint like blood across his forehead, over his eyelids, down the tip of his nose, how it felt to close his eyes and let the other boy do the same to him, how he always felt braver afterwards. Not like putting on a mask but taking one off, like the wild-eyed painted boy in the mirror was the real him, raging and ready to kill-_

"Something's wrong here."

Michael pulls the strap of Ryan's body armour tighter and looks up to meet his eyes. They're both ready to go now, standing together in the bedroom. It's two hours to dawn. They're about to go on the job, and that should be all he's focused on-

But Ryan's staring at him intently, and he just told Michael about yesterday. About his conversation with Gavin, about the scar, about how he took too long to answer, and the pieces are slowly fitting themselves together in his head. He doesn't like the picture they're making.

"What do you mean?" Ryan asks slowly, but Michael knows he knows. He turns away, rubbing his face.

"He doesn't get paid. He hates Gemini but can't leave. He doesn't have even have enough fucking money to buy food with. He flinches every time someone so much as slams a door and he won't tell you how he hurt his arm. You're not stupid, Ryan. _I'm_ not stupid. We both know what this looks like. You shouldn't have just let it go yesterday."

"What did you want me to do?" Ryan replies, but he won't meet Michael's eyes. "Push him to tell me? He doesn't want to, or he'd have said something-"

"He's too scared to say anything. He barely knows us. Why would he think we care? Maybe I'm wrong - but I don't think I am. We need to ask him what's going on, once and for all. Sit down and ask him exactly what the hell his deal with Gemini is, and decide where we go from there." His fists clench, something simmering angrily in him. 

There are a lot of bad people in their city. But there are also a lot of very, very hurt people. People who were never taught right from wrong, people who remind him too much of himself as a kid. Unwanted, neglected, pushed into crime by desperation. People who lash out because they've never learned to do anything but bite. People who need help, who just need someone to _notice._

Sometimes it's too easy to turn a blind eye. But not here, not now.

"And what if he doesn't want us to help?" Ryan asks, but there's something strained in his voice, and Michael whirls around and looks at him intently.

"What's with you? It's not that you don't care. I know you, you're softer than me most of the time. What's the problem here? Usually you'd be the one trying to convince me that we can't just leave this."

Ryan's face crumples a little. He looks away, biting his lip, and Michael moves over to him, reaching out and pressing his arm.

"It's too much the same," Ryan murmurs, so softly Michael can barely hear him. And then, "And I'm scared what will happen if we let him too close."

There's a childhood and a nightmare in those words, and Michael knows how hard this is for him. How painful it was for him just to fall in love with Michael - with Ray, for a time - every inch they grow closer like a noose tightening around his neck, making it hard to breathe. _Fear_. And not just that - the feeling of leaving something else behind. _Her_. Ray might have been an almost, but Wendy was everything, and Ryan lost them both.

And usually, it wouldn't matter. They've saved others before. but Gavin's different, and as Michael stands there rubbing his arm he can feel it, rising between the two of them, some acknowledgement that there's something here, something they can both see but haven't been able to admit yet.

"I think he's already too close," he whispers. Because Gavin's been here the whole time, seen everything, shared in everything, and somehow despite his previous anger, Michael finds he doesn't mind. Feels like Gavin understands in a way most people wouldn't.

There's something special in that.

Ryan bows his head, and Michael reaches out, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down into a quick, tight hug.

"We'll figure it out," he murmurs against Ryan's shoulder. "But we can't just leave him. Let's do this job, first."

 

* * *

 

It's storming.

The weather forecast was accurate for once, apparently, and the rain's coming down in droves as they inch through the dark car park. With the power off, everything's pitch black, and Michael's seeing only by the muffled light of his torch.

Even over the lashing wind and rain he can hear the yelling of the Lost trying to figure out what's going on. They don't seem to realise they've been infiltrated. The silent gunshots took care of the guards, and it'll be a while before they realise - all going according to plan.

"The ordnance was in here," Gavin hisses.

He's leading the way, but Michael keeps losing track of him. In his black windbreaker and in the pouring rain, he blends into the shadows, moving so quickly that he's little more than a ripple in the darkness. Michael swipes the water from his eyes and follows him to the shed door.

He's on edge, his heart pounding and every hair on his body standing on end. God, he fucking hates stealth jobs - and it's even worse because he knows what's out there. The Lost, and Dodger, and his old family - lurking somewhere in the shadows like feral beasts, ready to hunt out anything intruding on their territory.

He forces himself to take a deep breath.

_Calm down. You can't fuck this up, not again._

Gavin's picking the lock of the shed now, hunched over it, hands working deftly. Ryan and Michael stand guard, guns raised. Another crack of thunder breaks through the air like a gunshot, and in the flash of lightning that accompanies it he makes out the building above them, dark shapes flitting through the windows. They'll head to the fuse box first, he knows.

_You still have time._

"How's it going, Gav?" he hisses, and behind him Gavin hums.

"Almost there." He sounds calm, which is reassuring. So far everything's going so smoothly that Michael can almost believe they'll pull this off. A moment later, he hears the click of the lock, and the rattle of the shed door as Gavin pulls it open.

"Got it - oh, _fuck."_

"What is it?" Michael demands, whirling around. He points his torch past Gavin.

The storage shed is filled with crates and crates of explosives, shelves lined with guns and rocket launchers - it's what they wanted, but Gavin's pacing into the room agitatedly.

"Shit, shit - this isn't all of it. There was much more when I was here last time. They must have moved some of it - maybe they expected us to try hit it again."

"Nothing we can do about it now," Ryan says briskly, striding in without missing a beat and swinging his bag off his shoulder. "We deal with what we have. We can still get rid of all this shit. Come on - get going."

They move forward and start grabbing charges from the bag, arming them and setting them around the room, silent in their efficiency. The amount of explosives in this damn room means it'll go up with a hell of a bang when they set them off, and the thought gives Michael a thrill of satisfaction. It feels like burning away an ugly part of his past that he hasn't wanted to think about for a long time.

The drumming rain is making him nervous, and every crash of thunder has them jumping. But there's still no one here, and when Michael straightens up and glances at his phone he's surprised that only a few minutes have passed. Time seems slower when you're working like this, and he wonders if this is how it felt for Gavin, in those five minutes of darkness when he broke into the police station. There's something deeply satisfying about it, something exhilarating to the fear of getting caught. He's too aware of his heart pounding, of how his lungs burn with every breath, every pulse of blood through his veins. He feels deeply, deeply _alive._

"Done," Ryan says, and Gavin's already springing past Michael.

"Now the drugs," he says, barely sparing them a glance as he pauses at the door, looks around, then slips back out. Michael feels clumsy in comparison, rushing out after him, glancing at Ryan as they go.

He can hear a commotion elsewhere in the rain - shouting, running footsteps, as they struggle to get the power back on. But he doesn't think anyone's found the bodies yet, and Gavin's already making quick work of the next shed door. As soon as it's done, he hauls it open and flings an arm towards it.

"Load the drugs into that truck," he orders. "I'll get to work hotwiring it-"

And in a second, he's springing away. Fuck, Michael realises, Ryan was right. He's efficient as hell. This heist is already going faster and more smoothly than most of the jobs they pull. Usually there's at least a bit of fumbling around with getting in, or unlocking something. But Gavin completes every task with practiced ease, and even now he's breaking into the truck's cab so quietly that Michael can barely believe his eyes.

They start loading the truck up, transferring heavy crates from the storage unit to the back of the truck. As they work he bumps up against Ryan, and the other man pauses, glancing down at him.

"Doing okay?" he murmurs, and Michael nods. Another flash of lightning makes the world glow blue for a moment, and he can see Ryan's worried eyes through the mask. But he feels good right now, feels like they're really getting shit done, and he pushes on.

There are a lot of crates. Usually they'd just blow this all up too and get the fuck out of here, but fucking Clayton's demanding it as his payment, so they're left there in the pouring rain, stacking box after box. After a few moments Gavin revs the engine of the truck and jumps out to help them-

When suddenly whooping howls ring out, echoing in the wind and the rain, haunting cries like some distant pack of animals - then a gunshot, making Michael leap back, spinning around and squinting to see in the dark, unable to tell where it was coming from-

Above.

They're coming from above, nearly invisible in their dark clothes - rappelling down from the side of the building next to them, guns in one hand and torches switching on in the other. It's an old trick they used to use to get the jump on people, and with a furious roar Michael lifts his gun and fires up at them-

Only for one figure to leap from the wall and land right on top of him.

He hits the ground hard, and for a moment as his back slams against concrete the breath leaves his lungs in a rush. He gasps, dazed, but grappling with the woman on top of him - all he can see in the dark are the whites of her eyes and the occasional flash of the red paint on her face; she's strong, wiry, and trying to pin him down-

He gets one hand free - his gun skittered away as he fell, but he wrestles his knife from his belt. Feels her swing her own, moving for one quick, lethal stab to the gut, but it rebounds off his body armour and he takes the chance to twist his arm up and jerk the blade across her throat.

Hot blood pours over him in a rush and he splutters, squirming away from the body as it falls onto him like a dead weight. He staggers upright to find Ryan firing away at the rest of the Lost - but they're surrounded now, more of them emerging from the darkness, and when the power suddenly switches back on and a bright floodlight washes over them, Michael's blinded for a moment, everything turning white.

"Plan B!" he hears Gavin yell, and then a strong hand's around his arm, hauling him back and lifting him up into the truck - he blinks, trying to clear his eyes of the dazzling spots, and dimly realises Ryan's pulled him into the truck and is climbing into the back with them, and Gavin-

Gavin must be driving, fuck - Ryan was meant to - but he rams the gas now and the truck lurches forward. He hears yells from outside as the Lost scatter out of the way, then a hail of gunfire, a few bullets ripping through the side of the truck. Ryan grabs him and shoves him to the floor, rolling on top of him, holding both of them steady as the truck swings sideways, making a very shaky U-turn before tearing forwards again.

"After them!" someone outside screams. 

Ryan gets up and moves forward. The back doors of the truck are still open and he fires out for a few moments before pulling them closed and reaching up to his earpiece.

"Gav? You getting us out of here?"

"On it," Gavin replies, voice very strained. "Keep an eye on things back there! If they get in the cars we need to blow the charges!"

Of course - Michael had nearly forgotten that they'd set those ones first. Ryan nods, and turns back to him. He freezes.

"Are you hit?" he demands.

Michael pauses, taking stock of his body - but nothing hurts too badly, and he shakes his head.

"Fine. Didn't get me."

"Your face." Ryan reaches up and Michael does too, automatically. He realises that everything tastes hot and metallic and when he rubs his chin his fingers come away sticky and wet. He's covered in blood - not his own - and for a moment he spits and splutters, scrubbing frantically at his face. Bright smears of red come off on his sleeve and for a moment he feels sick, for a moment he's the one with the painted face.

But then Gavin calls out, over the earpiece, "Blow up the base!"

"Yes," Ryan hisses, and pulls out the detonator. He glances at Michael and even with his mask on Michael can tell he's grinning, and for a moment this is just another heist, adrenaline-rush, adventure. He presses the button and a massive explosion rings out in the base as the ordnance goes up. It shakes the truck, sends a great tremble through them, and Michael bursts out laughing, gleefully, feeling a tremendous rush of satisfaction surge through his chest.

"Yes! Take that, you bastards!" he cries, staggering to his feet and steadying himself against the wall of the truck. They're jolting over the road now, and it's still raining, and every crash of thunder makes his heart skip a beat.

Ryan pushes open the truck doors, hanging on tightly as he peers out.

"They're not all in cars," he begins, only to hear Gavin swear from the front.

"Guys," he says nervously, "Some of them are on bikes, and they're faster. They're pulling around the side- shit! Shit!"

There's a rattle of gunfire. The truck swings sideways and both of them catch themselves.

"Gav?" Michael yells back, with a pang of alarm. "You hit?"

"I'm fine," he replies, but sounds strained, "But they're shooting and I don't know where I'm going-"

He breaks off with another cry as more gunfire rings out, and suddenly the truck jerks sideways so suddenly that two of its wheels must lift off the ground; the whole thing fucking tilts and Michael staggers into Ryan, both of them hitting the wall, the crates of drugs sliding back with them.

"Gavin, what the fuck?" Michael screams, steadying himself against Ryan. "What are you doing up there?"

"Had to go off-road! They're cutting me off!"

They're definitely off-road; the truck is jolting and bumping constantly, and this is not a great area - hilly and uneven.

"Go around the lake," Ryan orders. 

"They're too fast!"

"I'll blow the cars in a minute. We'll lose them and circle back towards the city. If you turn around the lake, they'll cluster as they follow you."

Michael hears Gavin take a shaky breath over the earpiece. But a moment later the truck speeds up, and turns again - a little more carefully this time. More gunfire - but when Ryan opens the doors again and looks out, the cars and bikes are pulling together a little as they move to follow the truck.

"He's very close to the lake," Ryan says - but they don't have time to think about it, the Lost are already firing again, and when Ryan glances at him again, Michael nods.

"Do it! We have to lose them, take them out while we can-"

He doesn't even finish his sentence before Ryan's hitting the switch. It takes a second - then the charges they planted on the cars explode in a great flare of heat and light. Debris flies towards them and Ryan barely shuts the doors in time - but Michael can hear the screams, the confusion and panic and pain-

And the truck, jolted by the blast, surges forward only to tip.

For a lurching second Michael feels them falling - then with a crash suddenly they're tumbling every which way, the crates falling and spinning around them, and it's only when he hears Gavin let out a gurgling cry that he realises what the hell happened.

"Are we in the fucking lake?" he cries, managing to catch one of the rails on the wall.

Ryan's caught himself too. He glances at Michael, frantically.

"I think so," he spits. "Fuck, fuck - get out of here. What the hell's Gavin doing?"

God knows, given that his earpiece has gone dead-silent. The truck's steadied out now, but it must be sinking, and it's still on its side, and water's beginning to seep through the cracks around the doors.

They have to get out of here.

He looks at Ryan again, and they exchange a nod. Take a deep breath - the last of the air in here, warm and stagnant and lingering - then Ryan moves forward and hauls the door open.

Water rushes in; a solid, dirty wall, surging to fill the space. The two of them push out, forcing themselves out into the dark depths of the lake. Michael barely gets his bearings before he's squeezing his eyes shut against the filthy water and kicking, kicking, kicking to the surface. They're not too far down, and it isn't long before he breaks the surface, gasping.

The lake reeks. It's dark and dirty and he can already feel the grease of it forming on his skin. It's still raining heavily, and he coughs and splutters to clear the water from his eyes and nose and throat. It tastes foul, and his body armour makes it hard to stay afloat; he fumbles for the straps and lets it fall away from his body, sinking instantly.

_God._

On shore he can see a bright light. Fire. They're some distance away from it, but he can see immediately what happened; there's a steep bank sloping down from the road and the explosion must've pushed the truck down it. No sign of the Lost in pursuit - they're probably tending to their own where the cars blew up.

Well this is a fucking mess, isn't it!

"Ryan?" he calls out, but the other man's already popping up next to him, coughing and spluttering - it seems like he was getting his armour off, too. "You okay?"

Ryan nods. He rips his mask off and stuffs it in his jacket; his face paint is running madly down his face and he wipes his mouth on his shoulder so that he won't choke on it.

"Yeah. You?"

Michael nods - but it's getting harder to tread water when he's sodden and freezing.

"Where's Gavin?" he asks. He has to shout to be heard over the wind and the rain - but Ryan twists around, and finally points.

In the glow of the distant fire he can see Gavin splashing around a little distance away. He seems to be catching his breath - but as Michael and Ryan head over to him, he suddenly dives back down under the water.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Michael snaps - he moves forward with powerful strokes, but Gavin breaks the surface again, gasping for air only to start to dive down again immediately. Michael reaches out and grabs him.

"Gavin! What the hell are you doing?"

The other man's head's bleeding, watery red pulsing from a cut on his brow. He struggles in Michael's grip - it's hard to see in the dark, but his face is twisted and upset, and his voice is nearly hysterical as he cries, "The drugs!"

"Leave them, they're done for!" Michael snaps.

Gavin's flailing too much and it's hard to keep them both afloat. The thought of slapping him leaves a bad taste in his mouth; he reaches up and cups Gavin's cheek instead until the other man turns to look at him. His eyes are huge and frantic.

"The drugs," he repeats, almost tearfully, "We have to get them-"

"Leave them," Michael orders. "You can't get them on your own. Come on."

He swims back towards the shore and after a moment Gavin follows. It seems to take forever to get there; their clothes are heavy and keep weighing them down, and soon Michael's limbs are aching. His skin's nearly numb, he's so cold, and it's a relief to finally haul himself out of the water. He can feel his teeth chattering. Ryan slumps down next to him - but Gavin staggers to his feet almost immediately, shoulders heaving, and turns back towards the lake.

It's almost scary, how pale his face is, how desperate. He starts stumbling back towards the water.

"We have to get them back," he shouts, and Michael grits his teeth.

"What the fuck, Gavin? You're not getting that shit back, it's sinking! Look at it!" He flings his arm out; only the very tip of the truck's cab is still visible above the surface of the water. "They're _gone_ , dude!"

"Have to-"

He's heading in again, and Michael rushes forward and grabs him. He struggles, and Michael pins his arms to his sides. There's a dazed look on Gavin's face, and Michael wonders how hard he hit his head.

"Gav - calm down, okay-"

"Michael, let go of me-"

"You're not going back in there!"

"I _have_ to! We have to get them - Clayton wants them - that's our cut of the job, Michael - _Michael!_ Get the fuck off me!"

An elbow nearly hits him in the face and Michael clenches his teeth. Gavin's little and squirmy, but Michael's stronger and he tightens his grip on him, hauling him back up onto the shore. Ryan's come up next to them now, and one look at his face is enough for Michael to know that he has no idea what's going on here either. Gavin's shoulders are heaving, he's nearly crying and struggling so desperately that Michael's hard pressed to hold him still without hurting him.

"Let me go," he keeps sobbing, "Let m _e go_ , Michael-"

"Gavin, they're _gone_ ," Ryan urges. "What are you gonna do? There's nothing!"

“Clayton,” is all Gavin repeats, “I need to get them. _I need to get them_.”

Michael yanks him back and he finally stops struggling. But he’s trembling hard, and Michael can feel every gasping breath he’s taking, too-fast - and it’s freezing, and they’re both drenched, and everywhere he’s holding Gavin feels too sharp against his body, and as the firelight on the other side of the shore fades, the truck disappears beneath the murky surface of the water with a final sad gurgle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Awesome fanart by ornithogalum-umbellatum](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/162931629284/ornithogalum-umbellatum-no-time-for-goodbye) \- thank you so much!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Long scene of physical abuse towards the beginning. Not visually graphic, but still intense.

**xvi. beware, beware the crocodile**

_There’s a certain sort of sinking feeling you get when you realise the nightmare is real, and this is it, no second chances, someone’s gonna get hurt real, real,_ real _bad, and who should it be, Haywood? You - or your pretty little fiancée here?_

_He’s on his knees. The ropes dig into his arms, the cold metal gun barrel bumps against the back of his head._

_“‘cause you see, I don’t take kindly to people trying to kill me - no siree, and who did you say sent you again? Edwards? Your uncle, isn’t it - well, should I hit close to home and take his precious nephew, or should I teach_ you _a lesson about getting tangled up in the wrong sort of family business?”_

_There are a hundred things he should say. “Take me,” or “Not her,” or, hell, “I’ll kill_ him _for you, just let her go.” He’d’ve fucking done it, too._

_But his careless fucking mouth can’t stop the first thing he thinks of from tumbling out, the first_ stupid _thing._

“Please - _lets just talk about this!”_

_“Wrong fucking answer-”_

“Clayton’s waiting for you, and he’s not fucking happy your phone’s dead.”

A shuffle of feet. A hitch in Gavin’s breath. Ryan and Michael are sitting close to each other on the couch, huddled over the laptop, straining to hear. Michael’s leg, pressed to his, feels blazing warm, and Ryan’s glad because he feels cold cold cold inside and out, and it’s not just from the dip they took in the lake earlier.

“Okay,” Gavin’s voice, tinny and muffled, replies. “I can explain everything to him-”

A cruel laugh. A woman - God knows who. One of Gemini’s mercs, probably.

“Oh, Free. You’d better _hope_ you have a good explanation because I haven’t seen him this pissed off since the Fakes took out our outpost at the docks that one time. Don’t keep him waiting, then - you’ll only make it worse-”

 

* * *

 

(((EARLIER-

They crash into the house, shivering and frozen half to death. Michael fumbles for the air con remote, turning it up full blast.

“Jesus Ch-Christ,” he manages, between his chattering teeth. “I’m actually frozen solid. My dick’s a popsicle and the rest of me’s a very ornately carved ice cream statue.”

Ryan lets out a shaky laugh. He’s already stripping as he walks down the hall, desperate to get out of his wet clothes, but he pauses as he realises Gavin’s not moving.

“Gav?” he prompts. Michael turns too - Gavin’s standing by the door, a dripping black puddle slowly forming around his feet, head bowed. Trembling. “You okay?”

“Gotta go out again.” His voice is so low that Ryan can barely make out the words. They’re the first he’s spoken since they left the lake. “Told Clayton the hit was tonight. I gotta go  report back to him on how it went.”

There’s a long pause, filled with a tension Ryan can’t quite put his finger on - all he knows is that something feels _wrong_ , here. Something feels dangerous-

_(Someone’s gonna get hurt real, real,_ real _bad-)_

“Well, get dressed first,” Michael says, with false cheer. “You can’t go all wet like that. We’ll all dry off and then we’ll take stock of what actually _happened_ back there. It wasn’t a total failure.”

Gavin doesn’t answer, just trudges off into his room. Michael looks over at Ryan and his smile fades; they can see it in each other’s eyes. Something’s not _right_ , here - and they have a choice to make-)))

 

* * *

 

"What happened to your phone?"

Something about Clayton's voice makes a shiver run down Ryan's spine; he sounds as pleasant as he has in all their dealings so far, but there's a dark undercurrent to it that makes his blood run cold. It shouldn't come as a surprise, but somehow it's still a shock, to realise that they might be on the same side but by no means are Clayton and Gavin allies. No - something else is going on here. Something that scares him.

"It got wet. When we were escaping the base we ended up in the lake, I... I'm gonna need to get a new one, but I-"

"I see." There's a threatening note in Clayton's voice, and the way Gavin goes silent immediately is telling. The shuffle of footsteps - the click of the door as Clayton shuts it. "So what happened with the hit, then? I take it it didn't go well, if you all _ended up in the fucking lake."_

His voice rises at the end and Ryan hears the way Gavin sucks in his breath a little. When he speaks again, his voice is shaky.

"I... there was a lot we wanted to accomplish with this hit and it-"

"So it went badly."

"No, we still managed to-"

"Why the _fuck_ do you look so scared, Gavin?" And he's leaning in now, his voice is low but perfectly clear and if Ryan closes his eyes he can almost imagine the feel of the other man's hot breath against his face. There's a muffled thud - like Gavin's back's hit the wall, the bag with him. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

A shaky gasp, and Ryan feels sick, can only imagine Gavin's huge eyes, that particular rabbit in the headlights look he gets, the way his shoulders hunch up, expecting a hit, _expecting a hit-_

 

* * *

 

(((EARLIER-

"We blew up at least half their ordnance. We won't know for sure until we get eyes on them again, but we must've taken out at least five or six of them in that explosion, and injured more. Hell, there are probably only half a dozen of them left," Michael says. "We don't know where the tank is, but we've hit their numbers hard, and that counts for a lot."

"So not a complete failure then," Ryan murmurs.

It's a relief to hear they at least accomplished something tonight - but Gavin, sitting on the couch opposite, doesn't look at all reassured. He's staring at his hands, fingers twisting in and out of each other, something agitated in his movements.

"We lost all the drugs," he says, voice very tight.

"We don't know that that was all of them," Michael begins, but Gavin's head snaps up. His eyes are bloodshot and frantic, and the look on his face is terrifying, the colour completely drained, his mouth set tight. He suddenly looks years older.

"That was a lot of them, Michael - fuck, that was probably several million bloody dollars worth of cocaine! And Gemini was meant to get all of it - Clayton's gonna be pissed off. Really, _really pissed off-"_

He breaks off with a choked noise and rises, pacing across the sitting room, reaching up and clutching frantically at his hair. The other two watch him in silence, unsure what to say. Gavin pauses, turned away from them, and Ryan can see how stiff his shoulders are, how taut the muscles in his back are pulled.

"If we lie," Gavin says finally. "If we... if we say the drugs were moved... if we got some more from somewhere else-"

"Why not just tell him the truth?" Michael asks, very carefully. 

Gavin doesn't answer, but Ryan can see him shaking from all the way across the room. When Michael stands up, his whole body jolts, even if he doesn't turn. Michael steps towards him, one hand outstretched like he's trying to tame a wild horse.

"What are you so scared of?" )))

 

* * *

 

"What the fuck do you mean, they're gone?"

Clayton's roar makes even Michael and Ryan jump. They glance at each other, and Ryan can see the worried furrow to Michael's brow - his own increasing unease mirrored in the other man's eyes.

There's a rustling thump, and the bug blows out for a second - Gavin's bag must've been dumped on the floor - then a thud, and a cry of pain. _Gavin hitting the wall._

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't- We can get them back, I'm sure there were more, they moved half the ordnance so they might've moved some of the drugs too-"

"Do you realise how fucking much all that was worth? I already promised the Harts we were gonna make a certain amount from this job! God, you stupid little _cunt_ \- you put it all at the bottom of the fucking lake!"

"I didn't-"

"That was our share, our _fucking share_ \- the Fakes didn't even want it!"

"We can draw up a new deal." There's panic in Gavin's voice now, and Ryan feels sick at how desperate he sounds. How pleading. "If... if we say it was their fault for setting off the charges too close to the truck we might be able to get the tank and-"

A ringing slap, and he breaks off with a cry of pain. Michael grabs Ryan's arm. Squeezes.

"You just don't get it, do you, Gavin?" There's mock-patience in Clayton's voice - swimming distant and soft, then close up, like he's bent to grab Gavin. "You just don't _fucking_ get it - there's no room for mistakes here, especially from you. I expected so much better when I trusted you with this, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe you're not as useful as I thought. And you know, don't you, you're gonna have to make this up somehow?" A mocking whistle. "Three _million!_ Now that's a _hell_ of a lot to make up."

"Clayton, I-"

Gavin breaks off again as there's another thud, another choked cry of pain. 

Then another, and another - a hit, a kick, each one making Michael's hand tighten on Ryan's arm, each one met with a resigned grunt. And it doesn't stop, just goes on and on and-

 

* * *

 

(((EARLIER-

Gavin doesn't answer. Just stands staring down at the floor, his fists clenched by his side. But Ryan can see how fast he's breathing - his shoulders heaving, faster and faster until he's practically gasping. It's something too familiar, something that makes Ryan think of himself - those first few months when he'd wake up from nightmares and spend hours in a state of panic, unable to calm himself down, to stop his mind from running over her death again and again and again. When you're so scared you can't think straight, you can barely breathe, and nothing can make it okay. It runs too deep.

Michael glances helplessly at Ryan. He starts to stand, hoping to do something - but before he can speak, Gavin shakes himself.

"I have to go," he says abruptly. His voice is shaking so hard he can barely get the words out. "If I'm late he'll be even madder. My... my phone got all wet so he's probably already been trying to call me. Can I borrow the car? It's still raining."

He turns and starts to head for the door - but on impulse Michael steps into his path. Gavin jerks back, but Michael just takes his arms gently.

"Gavin, wait a moment-"

"I have to go, I'll be _late,"_ he cries, nearly hysterical.

"You're freaking out, Gavin - just tell us what's _wrong_. You don't want to go there, do you? Is it Clayton? Is something happening? Tell us, and we can _help_ you-"

"Michael, let go, _please_ let go. I work for Gemini, not you."

Michael looks stricken, but he keeps hold of Gavin even as Ryan comes up next to him.

"Gav," Ryan tries - the look on Gavin's face is heart-wrenching; he seems to be on the verge of tears and keeps uselessly jerking his arms, trying to shake Michael off. "If you work for Gemini you shouldn't be so scared to tell them what happened. We're worried - just tell us what's going on and we can try to-"

"You _can't,_ " Gavin cuts in, desperately. "You don't... just let me _go,_ Michael - what do you care, anyway? He'll just get even angrier - _I have to go."_

He's barely finishing one thought before jumping to another, and Ryan frowns. Like it or not he's getting seriously fucking worried here, and when Gavin manages to pull free and heads for the door again, he reaches out and grabs his sleeve.

"Don't you trust us?" he demands, and sees Gavin freeze- )))

 

* * *

 

A punch. A thud. The impact of fists against flesh.

"God damn worthless excuse for a thief, this is the third fucking time you've messed up now-"

A brief, choked cry of pain, breaking off into little, desperate whimpers. Clayton's own voice strained and out of breath.

"I should fucking kill you, you know. If it was anyone else I wouldn't damn hesitate. You've let the crew down, you've made us look stupid in front of the Fakes, you've lost everything we were working towards because of your own God damn stupidity-"

The sound of breaking glass. A sharp cry.

"Please," Gavin's saying - his voice distant now, the bug barely picking it up from across the room. "Please, please-"

"I saved your fucking life and this is the thanks I get? If the Harts were here now do you know what they'd do to you? You've seen what happens to failures before."

"Clayton-"

"Did they put you up to it?" And there's a thump - then the sound of choking; hitching strained breaths, and if Ryan closes his eyes he can almost see it. A strong hand squeezing around Gavin's thin throat, his face twisted in pain, scrabbling frantically at Clayton, trying to push him off. Too small. Too helpless- 

"Those idiots from the Fakes, is this some ploy? They tell you if you destroyed these drugs they'd give you something, help you somehow-"

"No- no-"

"Because if you betrayed this crew.... God, do you know what I'd have to do to you?"

"Please..."

"Same thing that happened to Elliot when he sold us out to the police. You remember that, don't you? 'course you do. Made you clean it up. Wasn't that enough of a fucking warning for you?"

A slam. A crack. A muffled thump. For a moment there's a long, horrible silence - Ryan's heart drops, his stomach sinks, he feels cold right to his core. Beside him, Michael's face is hard as stone.

Then there's a faint, wheezing gasp, and Gavin starts coughing. The tension in Ryan's shoulders relaxes, just the tiniest bit. Clayton scoffs - then the thumps start again, awful in how methodical they are, and what's worse is how Gavin's silent, how he just sits there and takes it and doesn't fight back, and Michael's fingers dig into Ryan's arm-

 

* * *

 

(((EARLIER-

There's a long, strained silence. Ryan's chest feels tight, and now he's breathing too fast as well. Doesn't know quite why he feels so nervous, why he cares so much. After a moment he lets go of Gavin's sleeve, and the other man stands there, staring at the floor.

_Don't you trust us?_

He doesn't know why it matters so much. Why he so badly wants Gavin to say yes. Why he's so scared.

Outside, the sun's rising. It should make things seem brighter, but the rain hasn't let up and in the new light he can see how Gavin's trembling, the bruises on his face from the car crash, the spot of blood on the bandage stuck over his forehead.

_Don't go. Stay. Let us help you._

_Why do you care?_

_Because you're a good person._

_Why do you care so much?_

_Why shouldn't I?_

_Why are you so scared?_

_Because if he gets hurt, I-_

He doesn't want to think about it. About how even now he wants Gavin to stay, so badly - to come back in and sit down and talk to them about this. To let them help him. It feels too close to his panic when Michael was in danger earlier - to how after that, part of him felt sick at the thought of him staying on this job. Wished he'd just go home again, back where it was safe.

Gavin takes a deep, shaky breath. Then he heads for the door again, and Ryan bites his lip. It feels like a slap and he doesn't know why.

"Ryan." Michael's come up next to him, hand slipping into his. They watch Gavin walk out, the door shutting softly behind him. "The bug."

God - Ryan'd nearly forgotten about it, and his heart rate picks up.

Maybe Gavin doesn't trust them as much as he hoped. Maybe they can't help him, not right now-

_(Maybe you should have tried fucking harder-_ but he shakes that off, tries not to think about it-)

But they can at least get some answers, here and now. Confirm some suspicions, and he takes a deep breath and lets Michael lead him towards the couch- )))

 

* * *

 

The final thud is the loudest - like something thrown into the wall right above the backpack. If the sounds of the last few minutes are anything to go by, that something was probably Gavin himself. The silence that follows is broken only by ragged breathing. Ryan can barely breathe himself.

Then footsteps - slow, ominous. Beside him Michael's shoulders are tense and hunched, and Ryan himself can barely speak. His mouth is dry as sand and he feels like he could throw up. It's been hard to listen to. 

Clayton seems to lean in close. Ryan can hear him panting, exhausted.

"This is your last fucking chance, you hear me? You follow the rest of our God damn plan like I told you to and you make it work - understand? Or else I'll send you back to the Harts and they can figure out what to do with you - and they don't take kindly to failures. Is that fucking clear?"

"Yes," Gavin whispers, and Clayton lets out a little hum.

"Good. Go clean yourself up, then. You look like shit - nothing new there, I guess."

He laughs, cruelly, and Michael reaches out with a trembling hand and switches off the recording, but not before Ryan catches the groan of pain Gavin lets out as he must pull himself to his feet; a soft noise, but somehow so desperate, somehow making his heart catch in his throat, making him too-aware of how much he hates hearing it, how angry he is under his numb shock, how much these last fifteen minutes have struck him deep in a way he's spent years trying to build shields up against. It feels like Clayton's smashed all of those down in an instant - like Gavin’s wormed his way in and lodged himself deep and Ryan can't get him out, an ache like a splinter he fears will reach his heart-

 

* * *

 

"Jesus Christ," Geoff breathes, over the phone.

Ryan's sitting slumped on the couch, the phone held limply to his ear. There's a long, tired silence. Across the room Michael fidgets and paces and casts him small glances.

"Honestly, a lot of things make sense now," Ryan says finally, when Geoff doesn't continue. He figures he's processing everything. "Why he's scared all the time. Why he stays with Gemini but seems to hate everything they do. Why he's not getting paid. He's not our enemy, Geoff - the rest of them are, but not him."

"And you said it's a contract?"

"That's my guess, but it's not one he can break. God knows what they must've offered him to get him to work with them in the first place. Safety, probably. There's a giant ass bounty on his head back in England."

"Poor kid," Geoff mutters, and with just those two words something in Ryan's shoulders ease, because he knows Geoff will take care of this. He's certain, because Michael was the poor kid once upon a time. So was Ryan. 

"We gotta do something, Geoff. We can't just leave him after this job - God knows what Clayton will do to him. Some of the shit we heard-"

"Yeah, yeah - don't worry, Ryan, I have no plans to just abandon him. Not when it sounds like he's saved your ass and Michael's a few times over by now. And from the sounds of it he'd be useful to the Fakes if we could get him onside. You and Michael talk to him tonight - I'll get in touch with Burnie, see what he thinks we should do about Gemini. If Free knows there's a place for him here with us once he bails on them, he might be more willing to cooperate."

Ryan nods. Geoff's voice is soothing in how sure it is, and it feels like the tight knot in Ryan's chest loosens a little, like he can almost see how they might unravel this whole mess.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

"Oh, Ryan. You don't have to thank me. This job's a giant shitfest but we're not leaving anyone in the lurch here. You and Michael doing alright?" he asks, and Ryan bites his lip, looking across the room at Michael. The other man's stopped his agitated pacing, and gives Ryan a small smile - but he looks exhausted, and Ryan doesn't feel much better. He's shaken by their eavesdropping, and he can feel a headache coming on-

And he still feels cold, so cold - it's different to the usual numbness, and he can't quite figure out what's going on.

"Yeah," he manages. "We're fine - or we will be. We'll be glad to get this done. Once Gavin's back we'll reconvene, figure out the plan - and figure out how we can fit fucking up Gemini into it all."

Geoff laughs a bit.

"Good. Miss having you two around, so hurry up and finish this. And hey - if it's getting to be too much for just the two of you, let me know, alright? We can send in reinforcements."

"We need to keep this quiet-"

"I think it's gone a bit past that. We've handled the cops before and we can do it again. I'd rather you're safe - all of you. Got it?"

"Yeah. I'll talk to the others, see what they think."

"Okay." There's a pause, and he feels like Geoff wants to say something more - isn't sure why, isn't sure what he might've heard in his voice to make him worried - but whatever it is, he keeps it to himself. "Take care, buddy."

Ryan starts to answer, but the sound of the front door opening makes him jump a bit. Michael's head snaps up, and he quickly hangs up, standing and turning.

Gavin's home.

He enters the house slowly. The rain's finished now, and the bright, sunny morning seems at odds with what a terrible fucking night they've had - with how sore they feel, and how nightmarish everything they heard seems. He and Michael both move into the corridor to look at him, and for a moment Ryan's taken aback.

He isn't sure what he expected - for Gavin to drag himself into the house on all fours trailing blood, probably - but he looks... remarkably alright. His face is bruised and swollen, but if Ryan hadn't heard what went on, he would've assumed it was just his injuries from the crash earlier. He shuffles in slowly, freezes, and looks slowly up at the two of them. Without his sunglasses Ryan can see just how _blank_ his eyes are. Somehow, that's the most terrifying thing of all. Not scared, not angry, not upset. Just - nothing.

"Gavin?" Michael asks softly. Ryan's glad he's taking the lead - he feels suddenly tongue-tied, standing frozen in the doorway, his head throbbing. "How'd it go? You alright?"

It probably wouldn't go down well to reveal they bugged his bag - not just yet, at least - but Ryan regrets that decision when Gavin just nods, and tries to walk into his room. When Michael steps forward, he freezes, and his whole body tenses up.

_He thinks you're going to hurt him._

After everything they heard it's fucking obvious, but Ryan's kicking himself for not noticing earlier just how scared Gavin was. It's so clear in hindsight - the way he jumped all the time, how nervous he's been - but when you don't know someone, when you go into things assuming they're your enemy, it's easy to write off little things like that as stupid ticks, as someone just being quiet, as a general tension.

He remembers vividly now every single time he grabbed Gavin, or pushed him, or raised his voice, and feels sick to think about it-

_You didn't know._

_That's no excuse. Think about how you'd've felt._

And then, a more sickening thought - _how long has this been going on? The whole time he's been with Gemini? A whole fucking year?_

Michael looks stricken, but he takes the opportunity to move between Gavin and the door to his bedroom. He makes an effort to look slumped, non-threatening, voice soft as he continues, "You seemed really freaked out before you left. What did Clayton say?"

"He wasn't happy." Gavin's voice is as quiet and flat as it was at the start. "But we're gonna continue and just try and take these guys down. He'll be in touch with you about how we can split up the takings now, since the drugs are gone."

"Are you alright? You don't look great."

"Got a bit banged up when the car went into the lake," Gavin replies. And then, "I'd like to sleep, could you please let me get to my room?"

Michael bites his lip. He looks helplessly over at Ryan, who steps forward slowly, unsure if he should call Gavin on the lie or not.

"You want me to take a look at that with the first aid kid?" he asks. "Anything broken, or-"

"I'm fine," Gavin murmurs. He's staring at the floor, but his fists are clenched. "Please, can I just - I need to sleep." There's a broken plea in it. "I'm sorry about the job going wrong, I promise I'll help fix it, I just - I'm too tired right now."

"Of course," Ryan says quietly. _Let him gather himself first_. _There'll be time to talk to him later. Let him wind down, let him realise he's safe here. "_ It's not your fault, Gavin. We're not trying to stop you sleeping. Go rest up - we'll talk about all this once we've all had a break."

"Ryan," Michael begins, but Ryan shakes his head and tugs him back out of the way. Gavin shuffles past them, shoulders hunched up. He's moving like he's sore, but then again they're all sore from the spill they took.

Gavin heads into his room and shuts the door quickly behind him. Michael turns to Ryan and opens his mouth, but Ryan pulls him back into their bedroom quickly.

"What the fuck, Ryan," Michael hisses. He's pale and angry now. "We were meant to talk to him! Why'd you just let him go?"

"Did you see him, Michael?" Ryan replies. He wants to say it gently, but his head's pounding so hard now he can barely think straight. His voice sounds distant to his own ears. "He's freaked out, he's shut down - for God's sake let him have a few hours to get himself together before we decide to come at him with all our questions."

"We wouldn't have pushed him-"

"Trying to get him to talk right now _is_ pushing him," Ryan points out, and Michael falls silent - but he seems agitated. He keeps pacing to the door and looking out, pressing his lips together so hard they're turning white. Ryan sits heavily down on the edge of the bed. He aches all over and still feels cold.

"Just let him sleep for a bit," he murmurs, and can't tell if Michael's even hearing him or not. "Just - let him sleep. He needs it. When he wakes up we'll get him something to eat and sit down and try and get him to tell us what happened-"

"We know what happened-"

"If we tell him we bugged him he won't trust us. He'll be embarrassed."

"What the fuck does he have to be embarrassed about?" Michael whirls around, furious - not at Ryan, not really, but he doesn't react either way. It feels like in the space of the last fifteen minutes all his energy was sucked out, and he can't tell why. "He doesn't-"

"Of course he doesn't, but he won't see it that way. He doesn't need the humiliation of knowing we heard everything that went on. If we offer him a job with us, if we tell him Geoff's willing to protect him if Gemini react badly... he's more likely to open up than if we start with _hey, we just heard Clayton beating the everloving shit out of you."_

Michael lets out a shaky sigh. He rubs his hands over his face and comes and sits next to Ryan on the bed. The warmth of his body, his shoulder pressing to Ryan's, is nice, and he leans into it. 

"I know you're right," Michael mumbles after a while. "I just..."

"What?"

"This last week we got close. Even before we were sure this was going on, I... I liked him, and I thought he liked me. I just thought he trusted me more than this. I don't understand why he wouldn't just _tell_ us - why he wouldn't ask for help-"

"It's been a couple of weeks, Michael. You and I of all people both know that it takes way fucking longer than that to trust someone. Especially given where he's come from. Especially given how we treated him at the start. God, I hate thinking about it, but I'm surprised he's even friendly with us after how mean we were to him back then."

"Yeah." Michael bites his lip. "I know, and I know it took me way longer than that to trust Geoff - to trust _you_ \- I guess that came out wrong. I guess what I'm trying to say is I _hoped_ that he would trust us. I really, really want him to, and I don't even know why I care so much."

The words strike something in Ryan, something that makes his stomach tighten again because they're too close to what he's feeling. And a little, worming part at the back of his mind can't stop thinking, _yes you do. You know exactly why you care._

He doesn't give voice to it. Just presses his face to Michael's shoulder and lets the other man wrap his arms around him.

"You're really warm," Michael murmurs.

"Really? I feel like I'm freezing." He shifts, wrapping his arm around Michael's waist. "We still don't know Gemini's other plan, the one Clayton mentioned at the end back there."

"If Gavin joins us, he might tell us."

"Or he might suspect we just want to get information from him before chucking him by the wayside. God, this is a mess."

Michael hums agreement, but with Ryan leaning against him he seems reassured, and strokes a hand down his back.

"Yeah, but we'll fucking figure it out somehow. You’re right, we’ll wait till he wakes up - we'll see what happens."

"We'll see what happens," Ryan repeats. He feels drowsy, like his head's filled with cotton wool, and somehow no matter how hard he tries to think he can't quite figure out how this is going to work out. But Michael's already rising and leaving the bed.

"I'm gonna go shower. You have a break too, okay? I think we all need one. I'll make food when I come out."

He nods - but can't help missing Michael's warmth next to him as he gets up and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Ryan goes to shower too, only moments later, in the other bathroom. He's still grimy from the dirty lake water, filth and blood caked under his nails, his face paint starting to itch. And he feels so cold that the thought of the hot water is comforting.

As he's heading down the corridor he sees Gavin in the sitting room and freezes. He thought the other man was sleeping, but he's not. He's standing under the aircon getting dressed, presumably because it's warmer there. 

Gavin whimpers as he moves his arms to get his shirt off, and Ryan stands watching him, transfixed. He's covered in bruises, already beginning to swell, and there are cuts and scratches along his back and chest, down his legs. But none of them look bad enough to stop him moving. They'll fade in a day or two.

Enough to hurt. Not enough to damage, to stop him being productive. It's a torturer's method; Clayton must know what he's doing. Ryan knows, too. He learned it himself, after all, in those dark years after he left Georgia and his uncle, when he'd take the worst jobs he could find. Like pain - his own or others' - might finally make him feel something again. Like if he became the scariest thing around nothing else could ever hurt him.

_You should go to him._

He wants to. He wants to grab the first aid kit and offer to help. He knows Michael patched Gavin up after that other job went wrong, and even thinking about that makes him feel guilty. _It was your fault. It should've been you._ He feels guilty about this, too. _You should've tried harder to stop him going tonight. You should have noticed sooner. You shouldn't have blown those charges so close to the truck._

_You just can't stop getting people hurt, can you, Haywood?_

_Especially those you care about._

_Especially those you-_

He shakes himself. Feels sick, suddenly. Feel like he's rooted to the floor no matter how much he wants to go to Gavin, to help him - paralysed by fear. Scared how much it matters. He turns, silently, and slips away into the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

It's when he steps out of the shower and the entire world spins for a moment that he realises that he is probably getting sick.

He felt warm under the hot spray, but the second he's out he's freezing again, and his body aches to the bone in a way he's pretty sure isn't just from the job, and when he puts a hand to his forehead he's burning up. 

Well shit. Okay. Maybe a swim in the lake in the middle of winter wasn't the best thing for his health.

It's one hundred percent not what he needs right now - but it's almost a relief, too, if he can put down how nervous he feels, how upset, how stressed, how strange and dream-like this whole day has been to the illness.

He heads out into the corridor, desperate to lie down, to ease his pounding head. The door to Gavin's room is shut, now, and Michael's still in the shower. He can hear the water running - for a moment thinks it's raining again. A shadow flickers in the corner of his eye, but when he turns, she's not there.

The next thing he knows he's in bed, and his head hurts - pulsing, pulsing, like his brain's trying to push its way out from behind his eyes, and he's curled up as tight as he can get but he's still cold even under the doona. A door opens, and there's a cool hand on his forehead.

"Ryan," Michael's voice says softly, swimming into his ears like it's coming from underwater.

"Think 'm getting sick," he mumbles, or something like that, and feels Michael tuck the blankets up around him. He says something else that Ryan can't quite catch; he's already slipping away-

 

* * *

 

He's burning up.

Everything feels at once too hot and too cold, and he's aware of a fog inside him and out. He's standing in it, dim shapes around him amongst the white mist. Furniture. He walks forward and encounters a table, a few chairs, a stove. A kitchen.

Somewhere else in the fog he can hear thudding blows, and someone crying, and a man's exerted grunts, and knows that elsewhere in this house of clouds Clayton is beating Gavin. He should go to him, but already knows there's not enough time.

_You're dreaming._

He realises this with a funny, distant certainty, but in the moment it still feels too real. He looks around and can't quite work out what house he's meant to be in. It's not his apartment, it's not Michael's, it's not the safehouse-

But then he knows, then it comes to him. _It is your house. It's the house you would've had with her, after you got married. Didn't you know, Ryan? If you'd only said something else-_

"-this might all have never happened. You could be here right now."

He whirls around. The voice is soft, and too familiar, and there's a shape emerging from the fog. Red hair. A round, freckled face. His heart clenches.

Wendy.

She's staring at him with those big green eyes - just like Gavin's - smiling a little. Unhurt, no wound in her head, no blood. Wearing tracksuit pants and a singlet, just like she used to look in those happiest, dream-like moments, in the years that blurred together, the moments they weren't on jobs but just together at home.

"Wendy," he murmurs, and she walks towards him, her eyes gentle. "Wendy, I-"

He's cut off by another loud thud from elsewhere in the fog. A pained whimper from Gavin. Wendy's smile fades, and she tilts her head. She's on the other side of the kitchen table now, and Ryan wants to walk towards her, but he can't move.

"Are you going to let him get hurt?" she asks. "Just like you let me."

There are tears in Ryan's eyes, and his head hurts so badly that he thinks he must be about to cry.

"I didn't want them to kill you," he chokes out, "I would've sacrificed myself-"

"I was so scared."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His chest feels like it's tearing apart. He reaches for her, but she slips away around the table out of reach, looking down, her fingers tracing across the back of each chair as she passes it. When he manages to focus on her again, she's wearing her leather jacket, her body armour, ready for a hit. A bulletproof vest's a big fucking help when you get shot in the head.

"Did it hurt?" she whispers.

"Unbearably," he replies immediately. "It hurt so bad I thought it would kill me."

"Why?"

"Because I loved you, I loved you so much-"

The sound of breaking glass. The whole room shakes, and plaster crumbles from the walls. Ryan flinches. Wendy looks up, looks around, like she's expecting an interruption. When she looks at Ryan again, her eyes are dark.

"You shouldn't love," she says grimly. "You could get hurt. Isn't that what you said, after what happened to me? But then you went and fell for Michael. Could you lose someone twice?"

"This isn't you," he says, stunned by her harshness. 

"What about three times?" she continues, and tilts her head as muffled shouting rings out from the next room. "He's going to kill him."

"He won't," Ryan says, his heart dropping.

"He might. What will you do about it? Or can't you move?"

Suddenly his arms are tied behind his back and his feet rooted to the ground; he struggles, but it's no use. His whole body aches and he's not strong enough. She walks towards him and he leans forward helplessly - he wants to touch her, embrace her, kiss her, but she lingers just out of his reach and leans forward until her lips are just too far from his-

_You didn't kiss her before the job, you never did, you never did-_

"Save it for later," she whispers, and she's so close he can feel her breath against his lips but he can't quite touch her and-

Suddenly he's awake, not with a jolt but with an easy swimming feeling, and he can feel a cold hand touching his brow. He opens his eyes and sees Michael, blearily, sitting next to him. His vision's a little blurry and his whole body feels so heavy he can't move.

It was a nightmare, but he doesn't feel scared or panicked. Just weighed down with grief, an aching upset in his chest.

"Michael," he murmurs. His tongue feels thick, like it's taking up too much of his mouth.

"Shhh, go back to sleep. Just checking your temperature." Michael offers him a glass of water, but Ryan shakes his head. "You sure? You should stay hydrated."

"Michael," he says again - he's suddenly afraid that the other man will walk out of the house to face the Lost again; it's irrational, Michael wouldn't, but he fears to close his eyes, thinking that the second he lets him out of his sight he'll be in danger, will go somewhere Ryan can't protect him. "Michael, you... You..."

He can't find the words, but Michael seems to realise he's distressed; he sits back down and curls up behind Ryan, arms wrapped around his waist.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and Ryan's eyes slip shut again, reassured by his warm body and the security of his arms around him-

 

* * *

 

He slips back into confused dreams, drifting in and out of a fevered daze. He's wandering through the dark, the shrieking Lost boys with their painted faces flitting in and out of the beam of his torch. One of them's Michael, but not his Michael - Michael as a boy, a twelve year old with the blood of his first kill smeared across his face. He has to find him, to get him out of there, and he's turning his flashlight to each boy, trying to find him - but they skitter like cockroaches away from the light, and it's hopeless.

Sometimes it's Gavin he's trying to find. They're in a maze made of paper and Gavin's being chased by Clayton. Ryan can hear them, running behind them, can see their shadows through the thin white walls, but he can't find a way to get to them, and Gavin won't answer his earpiece when Ryan calls-

He opens his eyes and the room's lit with a dim glow, the bedside lamp on but the rest of the house in darkness. He must have slept all day - it's the middle of the night by now. Michael's out on the couch - he probably doesn't want to get sick by sleeping here with him.

But there's someone in the doorway watching him, and Ryan turns his head to see.

_Ray_.

He's leaning in the doorframe in the same slouchy purple jacket he always wore, beanie shoved over his messy hair, looking at Ryan with those dark, intense eyes. Just like he was the day he walked away to go on that job and never came back.

Ryan stares at him sleepily, and Ray's lips twitch into a smile.

"You're real fucking sick, dude," he says. "Michael's gone to get you medicine."

"You came back," Ryan whispers.

"Of course I did." He pushes off the doorframe and walks into the room, moving to perch on the end of the bed, leaning in to look at Ryan. His eyes are warm, now. Kind. The soft look they started to get when he got close enough to Michael and Ryan to laugh with them. To trust them. "Heard you were ill, and figured this safehouse is where you'd be."

"But you were gone for so long... what happened, Ray? Why'd you leave?"

He feels like he's going to cry, and when Ray reaches out and strokes his cheek he squeezes his eyes shut and feels warm tears leak out.

"Did you miss me?" Ray murmurs.

"Of course I did. We always wondered what happened."

"Did you love me?"

A choked sob rises in his throat.

"Yes. Yes, I did - _we_ did - it took a long time for me to accept it, but I was ready. I was ready to let you in, too, and God, do you know how _hard_ that was for me?"

"Why?"

"Why? Because of what fucking happened last time, Ray!" His eyes snap open and Ray's face is so close to his that they're nearly touching. He's straddling Ryan just like he did that one time here in this very safehouse, here in this very bed, when they knew what was coming but weren't quite sure what to do about it. "Because I was scared of losing you, of you getting hurt, of being vulnerable with someone again! It was hard with Michael and it was hard with you and it's hard with-"

He breaks off, terrified of the end of that sentence. Ray gives that same breathy chuckle he always does. He clambers off Ryan and sits next to him, head in his hands.

"I see," he manages, and starts to get up, and Ryan reaches after him - he can't rise from the bed, can only desperately grasp to try and grab Ray's arm, his sleeve, his hood-

"Wait - don't go, don't leave again, please-"

And that's when he stirs back to reality, and realises Ray was never there at all. It was just a dream, and now he's in bed and his head hurts, but he doesn't feel as cold, and someone's sitting next to him dabbing at his forehead with a washcloth.

A pang of terrible hurt strikes at his chest. He does miss Ray, and didn't realise quite how much until now. It feels like they had some conversation, some connection, even if it wasn't actually real, and it's rekindled all his own old pain.

_I wish you were here._

_I wish you'd at least left one message._

_I wish I at least had answers,_ because right now it feels like he opened his heart and bared everything only for Ray to take it and fuck right off, to leave without a second thought, and now Ryan's secrets are out there, held by someone else. He knows that's not fair, that Ray probably has reasons, his own private pain - but right now, right now it hurts, and he thinks he should be allowed to have that.

"Michael," he murmurs - the hand on his head stops, and slips away. "Michael, I dreamed of Ray... I was so angry when he left, you know? I didn't want to show it because you were so mad, and I thought one of us should be calm. But I was furious."

"Ryan..."

"What time is it? Have you talked to Gavin yet? We shouldn't leave it too long, you know... you gotta talk to him."

"Ryan, I'm not Michael."

His head clears, and he opens his eyes. Green eyes stare back at him, and for a moment it's Wendy's face burned into his brain. Then he realises it's Gavin looking at him worriedly. He's briefly surprised, but too tired to spend much energy worrying about it.

"Where's Michael?" he asks. He still feels a bit dazed, a bit too exhausted to think properly.

"He went out to get medicine. You were awake when he told you he was going. I'm keeping an eye on you until he gets back. You should drink something," Gavin adds. "It's important to stay hydrated."

He picks up a glass of water from the bedside table. Suddenly Ryan realises how dry his mouth is - he reaches for it, but Gavin gently pushes his hands down.

"Sit up. I'll help."

He props the pillows up behind Ryan and helps him sit up. His hands are very gentle, guiding the glass to Ryan's lips, steadying him as he drinks. When he puts the glass down Ryan touches his arm, holds him gently, peering at his face. He's struggling to focus, but it's hard not to notice the dark bruises covering Gavin's face.

"Are you okay?" he hears himself ask. "You're hurt."

"I'll be alright," Gavin whispers, but Ryan shakes his head with a feverish urgency. Wendy's in the back of his head, whispering, whispering. _He's going to kill him._ He was scared for Michael before, scared he’d walk out the door to the Lost and not come back. Now he’s terrified for Gavin.

"You're hurt," he insists.

"Ryan, I'm fine - the job went wrong, but-"

"You're not," Ryan says, and Gavin freezes. Even in his daze, Ryan doesn't miss the way his eyes flick down to his body before meeting his again, wide and nervous. He swallows painfully. "I'm sorry... I should've stopped it."

"It's okay," Gavin says softly, and touches his shoulder for a flicker of a second. "Nothing was your fault."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Ryan murmurs. His head hurts so much that it's getting hard to focus again. "Can't-"

"It's okay," Gavin whispers, "I'm fine. You need to rest. Your fever's too high."

He gently detaches his hand from Ryan's grip and reaches out to check his forehead again. Frowns, but rises from the bed, only to hesitate. Ryan's sitting up a bit staring after him. His eyes throb, and Gavin's swaying in his vision - but he can't just let him walk away. Not again.

Gavin must see something in his bloodshot eyes. He glances down, then asks, tentatively, "Want me to stay?"

Ryan nods immediately, and flops back down. The relief that floods him as Gavin sits shyly next to him is overwhelming, and it feels like all his muscles finally relax. Gavin reaches out and touches his hair gently, and Ryan likes it perhaps a bit too much. He nestles against Gavin's side, drinking in the warmth of his body, and lets himself fall away again.

 

* * *

 

He's dimly aware of hearing Michael return to the house, of someone giving him a pill and another glass of water, of the lights turning off, then on, then off again.

He jolts awake some time later, heart pounding - panicked and unsure why. Perhaps a nightmare he can't remember. It's dark in the room, and Michael's lying next to him, breathing steadily. Asleep. He must have lost a whole day.

Gavin's at the front of his mind, and he doesn't know why.

Suddenly the other man looms too big in all his fears, a dilemma he can't figure out, a problem that's consuming him.

_What if he joins us? What if he doesn't? What if the Lost hurt him - what if Gemini does? How is this future going to play out? How much more can you take, if this goes wrong?_

His urge to protect the other man is rising every second, making him want to burst-

But he can't stop thinking about how much it will hurt if he fails. Scared of how much he cares, but at once unable to stop. Worried of giving too much of himself to something that might get torn away - _Wendy_ \- or simply fade. _Ray._

It's nearly too much, and his chest tightens, his eyes ache. He rolls over and hugs Michael tightly, pulling him close, burying his face in his shoulder. The other man startles awake, but quickly realises it's just Ryan, and turns to wrap an arm around him instead.

"Hey, you okay? What's wrong?"

"You talk to Gavin yet?" he asks, voice muffled into Michael's shoulder. He feels the other man stiffen beside him.

"I tried to," Michael replies, "But he... he wouldn't open up much. I was worried about pushing too hard. He refused to tell me anything about what happened with Clayton - just said he was handling things and wanted to finish the job. I didn't really know what to do. Figured I'd wait for you and we could sort this out together."

Ryan rolls onto his back. He doesn't know what to think - part of him had hoped that Michael would have sorted everything out while he was sleeping, that he'd tell him there's nothing to worry about, that everything will be okay. That's silly, he knows. But he can't help hoping for an easy solution to this, for the problem to just go away.

He doesn't realise he's breathing too fast, that his breath is coming in choked, sob-like wrenches, until Michael sits up and turns on the light.

"Hey, hey," he says, and turns to Ryan, grasping his face gently in both hands. In the lamplight his hair glows like a red halo, and his dark eyes are warm and soft. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He reaches up and clasps his hand over Michael's, unable to find the words.

"I don't know what's happening," he chokes out finally. "I'm terrified. I care about him too much, and that makes me weak. I hate how much it matters - if something happens, it'll hurt us too. I don't want to let it, but I don't know how to stop-"

He breaks off with a distressed noise, his voice cracking, and Michael strokes his cheek and pulls him close. Ryan clutches at his shirt, trying to slow his breathing, to calm his racing heart.

"Hey, hey - it'll all be fine. I'm scared, too."

"What will we do, Michael?"

"We have a choice to make here," Michael says slowly, "And we need to make sure we go the right way. You and I both know what that means."

Ryan swallows a few times.

"I know what we have to do," he says, and takes a deep breath. "I'm just... afraid of what it means for us."

Michael freezes again.

"What do you mean?" he asks slowly, but Ryan can't find the words to express it. Is scared to give voice to what he's thinking - that it'd be easy if Gavin was just a civilian, just someone they'd heard of trapped in Gemini, just a consultant they didn't know well. But he's not. He's become something else, something more, and gotten too close before Ryan even realised what was happening.

He can't answer, and after a moment Michael's face softens.

"You have a fever," he murmurs. "You're not thinking straight. But it's not just you on your own now - it's both of us. We'll figure it out together. We'll talk when you're feeling better, okay?"

The words don't ease the fear, nothing really can. But he remembers how Michael was there alongside him the whole time they were with Ray - how they got to know him together, discussed him together, went on heists together. That made it easier, knowing he wasn't the only one unsure what was happening. Slowly figuring out the best way to do this. Having each other to lean on, when things got hard.

He settles against Michael's side and closes his eyes, and lets the other man's hand running through his hair soothe him until he feels like he can breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Three](https://8tracks.com/cooliohoolioo/wendy) [awesome](https://8tracks.com/cooliohoolioo/hook) [fanmixes](https://8tracks.com/cooliohoolioo/shadow) by cooliohoolioo - thank you so much!! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**xvii. petrified**

_"I'm sure I've forgotten something."_

_"I'd imagine so. You're packing your entire life up to move across the bloody world in the span of twenty four hours."_

_Gavin will always remember the look on Dan's face, that night before he left. He isn't sure how to describe it - not quite betrayed or disappointed, nothing that harsh. Certainly not directed at Gavin himself. But... lost, perhaps, because they've been everything to each other for a while now - best friend, brother in arms, each other's only ally in a world growing steadily more dangerous. Gavin's had Dan's back as much as the other way around. Of course Dan doesn't want him to go._

_He doesn't want to leave, either. Not like this - not alone and in a rush, not when the only plane ticket he can afford is to some shithole of a city he knows nothing about._

_"B..." He puts his bag down and steps forward, reaching out to grab Dan's arms. "I'm not going forever."_

_"You sure? You always used to talk about heading off to the states."_

_"Not like this. And not without you." He squeezes Dan's arms. "I don't wanna leave all in a rush like this, but Hanson-"_

_"I don't blame you," Dan cuts in. "I just - I'll miss you. Won't be the same without you around."_

_"I'll call you as soon as I get there. We'll figure out what to do, how we can get me out of this damn mess. I promise."_

_Dan manages a small smile. They don't hug often, but when Gavin leans in, he doesn't pull away. There's a lifetime of loyalty in their tight embrace - nights spent wandering the empty halls of their school together, stones thrown to chase their bullies away, fleeing the police through hedges and marshes and the fields of the country town they grew up in. Dingy little apartments when the two of them finally moved out, the adrenaline rush of their first jobs, the takings split between them._

_Dan's the only person who’s ever had his back, and Gavin doesn't want to let him go. Wishes to God he didn't have to._

_"I'll be back soon," he whispers. "I swear."_

_He feels Dan's warm, strong arms tighten around him._

_"I'll hold you to it-"_

"-We need to keep hitting them, harder and harder.”

“I don’t know about that-”

“After our attack the other night we can't just let things linger again. While they're licking their wounds, we strike."

"I agree, Ryan, but Gavin's injured and you're sick."

"I'm getting better!"

Gavin lines up the knife on the cutting board and slices a pomegranate in half. Then half again, and again, watching the blade cut easily through red flesh, juice spilling out like blood to stain the wooden board. The tangy smell hits him and for a moment he almost feels alive.

Out in the sitting room, the others are talking. Michael went to the markets this morning and brought back fresh fruits and bread. Gavin's starving, but he's taking his time cutting up the fruits - lopping the tops off strawberries, slicing pears and peaches into small parts. The smell mingles in the air around him like a spring day and he almost feels free. He doesn't want to go out there, yet. Doesn't want to have the conversation he knows is coming.

They're talking about him, he can hear them.

They know what's going on. Somehow they've finally figured it out - probably because he was so freaked out the other day - he couldn't help it, hadn't meant to be so obviously panicked, but they're not stupid. He's seen how they're looking at him, a cautious pity in their eyes.

_They want to help you. They tried to stop you going. They keep pushing to get you to talk. They keep offering to help._

And God, this should be everything he wants. This should be a dream come fucking true, especially after how bad yesterday was. But instead he just feels sick, like he's swallowed pebbles and can feel all their sharp edges digging into his guts, like their heaviness is weighing him down, because-

_How can you know this is real?_

_What if they're just looking for a weak spot, a way to get to Gemini? What if they just want to use you to find out Clayton's plans? What if this is all just a ploy?_

And he knows, after how close they've gotten, after how Michael's treated him, after seeing how caring Ryan can be, that he shouldn't worry. That it probably is all fine - they're the Fakes, and the Fakes aren't like Gemini-

But after all Clayton's threats he's scared, and the choice looming in front of him is daunting. Stay where he is, and be obedient, and try not to get hurt more... or take a chance at freedom, at accepting help, and risk getting hurt ten times worse? Because if he turns on Gemini, Clayton will skin him alive, he knows it. 

Maybe six months ago he'd've been a braver soul, would've jumped at this chance to escape. But a year... a year has worn him down, and the world seems like a dark and scary place, and everyone around's just looking out for themselves. 

_You've gotta look out for yourself, too. And what's the best way to do it? Keeping your head down, sticking to Clayton's orders? Or taking a chance on these two? You'd be putting a hell of a lot of trust in them, and you don't have much left to give._

"Gav?" Michael calls from the other room, and he jumps a little, the knife slipping and narrowly missing his thumb. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah," he calls back, and tries not to let his voice shake. "Yeah, I'm coming."

He scrapes all the fruit into a bowl, grabs a pot of yoghurt, and heads out into the sitting room. Michael's sitting on one couch, leaning forward to look at his laptop on the table in front of him. Next to him, Ryan's curled up in a bundle of blankets. He looks up and gives Gavin a small smile as he enters.

His fever broke last night, after Michael returned to the house with medicine, and while he still doesn't look great - a bit pale, eyes bloodshot, scruffy and unshaven - it's a far cry from how he looked when Gavin went to check on him. That had been scary - just how out of it Ryan was, his eyes open but unseeing, thrashing in the bed like he was trying to escape the blankets. Even when he was dead-asleep, when his whole body had gone limp and heavy, Gavin had seen his eyes flickering about under his lids, clearly seeing something none of the rest of them could imagine.

Thank God that's over. It'd been disconcerting, seeing him so vulnerable - and even now, huddled on the couch in his fleece, Ryan doesn't look much like the Vagabond.

"Thanks, Gavin," Michael says then. He looks exhausted - he wouldn't have slept well, Gavin knows, too worried about Ryan. But he manages a smile, too. "Sit down, get some food - we wanted to talk to you about something."

Oh God, here it comes. He sits nervously, watching as Michael starts filling a bowl for him. Too-aware of how everything aches where Clayton hit him. They'll heal quickly, they always do. Wouldn't want him to be useless, after all.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks Ryan quietly, hoping to divert the attention away.

Ryan nods, but Gavin can tell he's nervous too. That's... reassuring, somehow. He finds it hard sometimes to tell what the other two think of him, but it's nice to know that he's not the only one feeling uncertain here.

"Yeah. Still achy but I think the worst of it's over. Thank God it passed quickly."

"Sorry I drove us into the lake. It's my-"

"It's not your fault," Michael says sharply - only to pause, and take a deep breath, and add more calmly, "It's no one's fault. The charges went off too close to the truck. We all got out alive. That's what matters."

Gavin bites his lip. Michael hands him a bowl and he busies himself poking at it with a fork. He can see the other two looking at each other, apparently undergoing some silent argument about who's going to speak first. Finally Ryan sits up a bit and leans forward.

"Gavin," he says - Gavin can't help the way his shoulders stiffen as he stares down into his fruit bowl - "Geoff and Burnie were really impressed with your work so far."

That... was not the direction he expected this to start off in, and he can't help his small smile.

"Thanks," he says, softly.

"No, I mean it. The Fakes plan our heists together, but we could really use someone with your expertise. You said before that you don't like Gemini. What would you think of coming to work for us after this job? There'd be a good starting salary for someone with your track record of successful hits."

Gavin looks up and stares at him. He'd anticipated some sort of confrontation, for them to press him to tell them what was going on in Gemini. Something he'd have to navigate and deflect.

Not being offered a job. He isn't sure what to say, because one part of him is lit up and overjoyed - _this is everything you wanted, take it, take it, they want you, can't you see they want you_ \- the rest is still frozen in fear. _What if this doesn't go well? What if they're playing you?_

_Geoff Ramsey wouldn't do that, would he?_

"I..." he begins, and freezes, hesitating. Michael reaches out to him then, gently touching his knee.

"I know we didn't get off to a great start on this job, but I think we work really well together. If you wanted to, I think you'd fit in great with the rest of the crew. Not to mention, all that shit Gemini does - we're not like that."

He bites his lip.

_Say yes. Say yes. Say yes. This is the chance to escape you've been waiting for - why are you fucking hesitating? You should be jumping at this chance. You should be kissing their fucking feet._

"I... I work for Gemini," is what comes out of his mouth - helplessly. Too scared to say yes, not just yet.

"The contract?" Ryan asks. "How much longer is it for?"

"It's... not the sort of arrangement that can be bought or broken."

"But you want to leave," Michael insists, and Gavin stares at him helplessly. There's an earnestness burning in Michael's eyes that at once terrifies him and makes something stir deep in his chest, something that wants to flee towards him and clutch him tight, to let him protect him. This is Michael who's brought him food most nights for the last few weeks, Michael who patched up his injuries, who listened to his story. Who let Gavin in, too.

It's everything he wants, but suddenly he's terrified that it's his desire for them that's clouding his judgment. That he likes them too much, wants them too much. Wants everything they're offering.

"Gavin?" Michael prompts, and he cringes a little, shoulders hunching up. "Gavin, you want to leave them. Even if you don't want to join the Fakes, what about Burnie's crew, out of Achievement City?"

God, he could leave this shithole behind. Burnie was so kind. Could he protect him from the Hart Twins?

_You'd be putting them all in danger,_ a new, treacherous voice whispers _. The Harts will come after them, Clayton will, they'd be starting a war over you. Even if they say it's fine, if one of them gets hurt, they might blame you. They might resent you. They might throw you right back. Even if Michael and Ryan care about you - will Ramsey be willing to risk the lives of his people, to risk this fragile balance, just for some thief he barely knows?_

_There's no way this goes well. Not for you. Not with your sort of luck._

"I... I don't..." he glances helplessly between the two of them, torn and worried and scared that anything he says, any choice he makes, will somehow backfire. "Burnie was nice to me, but I... I can't just leave so suddenly."

"Then how?" Ryan urges gently. "When?"

Gavin doesn't know what to say. He bites his tongue so hard it hurts, feels himself start to shake. His heart's starting to pick up, so fast it nearly aches.

"Gavin," Michael continues, still steady and calm. "If you're worried what happened in England will happen again, if you think you won't be safe, you don't need to worry. Geoff takes care of his crew."

"But I'm not his crew," Gavin whispers.

"You will be, if you join us. After you've worked with Ryan and I so closely, we trust you. If Clayton comes after you, you'll be well protected. We have no love for Gemini and more than likely we'll be at war with them within the year anyway... and I don't want us to have to come up against you. Not given the rest of this... situation."

God, it's everything he wants. For a moment, he wonders if he's dreaming. This is something he's entertained in stupid fantasies at night in the safehouse; the others noticing a bruise, a scar, pressing him to ask what's wrong, guessing correctly, insisting he come with them. Confronting Clayton for him. Stupid things, things he dismissed as daydreams. Dangerous ones, too. Ones that might give him false hope.

But now the words are coming out of their mouths, and he can't quite believe it, and he wants to open his fool mouth and say yes, yes, yes-

_Petrified._

He's petrified, and he can't move, and it feels like his mouth has turned to stone, his tongue to clay, and the words won't come. He sees Michael falter, and cast an uncertain little glance towards Ryan.

"Clayton wants us to attack them again," he blurts out suddenly. It comes to him, the other man's instructions, ones he'd been meaning to tell them before Ryan got sick. "He... he agrees with what you were saying before, Ryan. While they're still reeling from our last attack, we should land another blow. If we really did strike their numbers, I figure they'll head back towards what can protect them the most. Their not so secret super-weapon."

"The tank," Michael says grimly, and Gavin nods.

"If we can hit them before they get to it, we'll have a good chance of taking most of them out. And then - if that works..." he swallows, and manages to get the words out, "I... I think if we succeed maybe we can meet with Ramsey to update him on what's going on, and while we're there I can... can talk to him about the sort of work he'd like me to do."

He sees Michael's face light up with a genuine grin, and even Ryan smiles. That eases something in him. 

_They really seem to want to help you._

_Trust them. You know you can._

_You can't trust anyone. Don't be stupid._

_You're right, don't be stupid. Don't throw away what might be your only chance to escape. If you let this opportunity slip past, you think someone else will come along who cares? Not in this fucking city._

_Dan isn't coming to help you now. He doesn't even know what happened to you. But Michael and Ryan, they remind you of him._

_Let them_ help _you._

But this is good - he can put it off for now, and then get a chance to try and see if Ramsey's really genuine about helping him, and maybe in the meantime Michael and Ryan will talk to him a little more. Not like this, not sitting down in a way where he feels like he's in the spotlight, like it's an intervention. This sort of talk makes him nervous.

Something nicer, softer, like everything else so far.

"Okay," Ryan says gently. "That sounds good, if you're more comfortable with that."

He nods meekly, and sees them smile again. He manages one himself - a small one, something close to hopeful.

"Good!" Michael declares, and squeezes Gavin's leg. His hand's very warm, and the touch makes a shiver run down Gavin's spine. He smiles back at Michael, and tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat at the warmth in the other man's eyes. "Let's eat then, and start planning a new job."

He drops the topic there, and Gavin is very relieved - glad that they’re not pushing him to tell them everything now, trying to get him to break for them - to spill all the things he holds too close to his chest. They’re not secrets he wants to keep so much as he’s afraid to give them up. It feels like opening Pandora’s Box, inviting misfortune. It’s not just him who might get hurt.

But they leave it - turning back to their food, suggesting ways they might find the tank, and Gavin can only watch them with a spreading warmth in his chest as he eats. The yoghurt is sweet, and the strawberries look like hearts, and maybe he’s staring at the two of them a bit too much - oh, they’re not perfect. Ryan still looks sick as a dog, and Michael really doesn’t suit the unshaven look. But suddenly he adores them, suddenly he doesn’t ever want to look away.

It all feels so intense. Is it just because he’s rarely had friends-  especially ones he hasn’t known since childhood? There was Dan, but that was it, and suddenly Gavin’s afraid of how awkward he must seem around the others, clumsy in his interactions, unsure what the hell he’s doing. He’s afraid he doesn’t know what he’s actually feeling, but what he does know is that everything just feels too-strong, too-strong, too-strong. He likes them too much, wants them too much.

And it’s scary to realise that - but not in as bad a way as all the other stuff. It makes him want to smile all the time. It makes butterflies dance in his stomach; they tickle, not like the nerves that make him feel sick. It makes him blush under every look they cast him, self-conscious but not self-doubting. Seems to turn everything upside down, brighten it all with a spreading sunlight.

It’s nice. He doesn’t want it to end.

_You don’t have to let it_.

 

* * *

 

The plan's simple, and they need to do it quickly.

"They won't stay at that base long, not now they know we know where it is," Gavin says grimly, as they stand around a map of the surrounding area. He's in his element now, ready to work hard. Wants to get this shit done as fast as possible. "They'll be scared we'll come back with the full force of both our crews. Not to mention they probably have a bunch of people injured from our last hit. So they'll be aiming to leave - as soon as they can."

"There are two roads leading out of the compound," Ryan says, tracing them on the map. "The front and the back."

"We can take care of the back by felling some trees. After last night's storm they won't give it a second thought. Then we set a trap out the front. When they leave, they'll be caught in it. You pick them off then. Catch them on the road and kill as many as possible."

He looks up to find them both nodding fiercely. There's a determined set to Michael's jaw, and Gavin's quite sure that if it comes to it, when it comes to it - he won't hesitate.

"We don't have much time. We need to set the traps at night because they're likely to leave at dawn. I'll keep eyes on the base, but I can't do it from here. I'll hide nearby and contact you when I see them leaving."

"What if they see you?" Michael asks, and Gavin straightens up and meets his eyes, confidently.

"They won't." 

In a planned job like this, he's more than assured in his ability to stay hidden. Michael meets his eyes, and once Gavin would have expected him to scoff or ague. Now, he just nods, and smiles, and takes him at his word. It's nice to be trusted.

"After we take them out, we break into their base again and check their records. Find the tank - and make sure we got all of them, that there isn't another cluster somewhere," he says. "Like bloody head lice - you don't get them all, you got a bigger problem later on."

"Let's get this shit ready then," Ryan says, and turns to leave when Michael grabs his arm.

"You shouldn't come. You're still sick."

"Michael." Ryan shoots him a gently chiding look. "You're dreaming if you think I'm standing by. I'm well enough."

"You were bedridden and so fevered you were fucking hallucinating last night!"

"It passed quickly. I've fought with worse injuries. And you're the one fucking dreaming if you think I'm sending the two of you in alone."

_The two of you._ It feels nice to be included - and Gavin smiles at how easily it slipped out of Ryan's mouth, how naturally. He didn't even have to think about it.

Michael doesn't look convinced.

"If you get hurt," he begins, but Ryan gently takes his hands.

"Michael. I promise, I'm fine. I wouldn't jeopardise this job by lying about it. You can take my fucking temperature if it’ll make you feel better - I’m fit enough to run and shoot."

He cups Michael's cheeks and stares into his eyes, earnestly. After a moment his hands stroke down Michael's face to rest on his shoulders, and the other man leans into the touch and nods. Gavin watches them from the sidelines and smiles a faint smile, trying not to envy the closeness. The touch, the reassurance, how much it's what he wants. Human contact. Familiarity.

"Okay," Michael whispers, and takes a deep breath. "If you're sure, then let's do this."

Ryan nods, and squeezes his arm before pulling back.

"We have until evening to leave the house. Let's get going - run over the map, contact Geoff, gather our resources, build the traps. Lots to do."

Gavin must've had some sort of apprehension on his face, because Ryan turns to him and gives a reassuring smile.

"Hey - we got this."

"Okay," Gavin says softly, and smiles back. "Yeah, we... we can get it done."

Ryan heads out towards the garage, where they're storing supplies - but Michael lingers, walking over to Gavin.

"You okay to come on this job as well?" he asks.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Gavin asks. His breath catches when Michael reaches out and pokes gently at his abdomen.

"You got pretty banged up the other day."

He carefully avoids saying how or why, and Gavin bites his tongue. How would Michael know exactly what happened with Clayton? It's clear he suspects what's going on - that somehow he and Ryan have put the pieces together - but the specifics...

Still. It doesn't matter; he shakes his head anyway.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Just bruises, and they don't hurt too badly today. I had a rest yesterday and it did me a hell of a lot of good. You don't need to worry about me."

"I do anyway."

"What?"

"I worry," Michael says, and there's something intense in his gaze. His hand's on Gavin's arm now, and part of him wants to pull back, but the rest of him is drinking in the feel of Michael's warm skin, the gentle pressure of his thumb pressing to the pulse of his wrist. "You seem to keep getting hurt on this job. I don't like it."

"Oh." His face heats. "Thanks?"

"Don't thank me, just stay safe. If you don't want to come, we won't make you. These people are my problem, my mess. You're here to plan and sneak us into places, and no one said anything about you having to go into the field on a hit like this. If you want to stay back at the house neither Ryan or I would be mad."

It's... it's nice of him to offer. It's very nice, and for a moment Gavin is so stunned he can't reply. Then he feels that same warm swell in his chest, and smiles.

"That's really nice of you, Michael. But I'm not going to leave you two in the lurch. Even if you knew these guys before, they're not just your problem. We're in this together and I'm not about to back out now."

Michael looks surprised - then pleased. And he touches Gavin then - a hand running slowly down his arm, tenderly. Not the the sort of brusque, manly, hearty clap on the shoulder that Clayton likes to use as an excuse to thump people. His eyes are bright like fire, and it almost scares Gavin that for a moment, he thinks he would do anything Michael asked him. Walk into battle, put his life on the line, go in with nothing but a knife and his fists if that was the plan, and do it bravely, too.

_Except let him help you._

_Except agree to join his crew with him._

_Except trust him enough to think he really will help._

He shakes himself - Michael's turning away to follow Ryan now, and Gavin stands by the table, his knees feeling suddenly weak, watching the two of them leave. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

Despite what he told Michael, he's sore and achy from the beating he took yesterday - but it's nothing he can't handle. He's willing to try this - scared, but anticipating change. Feels for the first time like he's not stuck up to his knees in quicksand, sinking deeper with every step he tries to take - but trudging, slowly, making some sort of progress, nearly able to move.

 

* * *

 

**xviii. body count**

_The night before Michael runs away he sits in an empty bathtub, naked and shivering, staring down at his hands and body._

_It's freezing in here - it's the middle of winter, and he can hear the storm raging outside, but he can't bring himself to move even as his skin prickles into gooseflesh with the cold. He's caked with flaking dried blood and none of it's his. He needs to wash it off, but for a moment he can't move. His heart's racing and he's on the verge of panic and the metallic smell is too strong, seems to permeate his every sense, he can practically fucking taste it._

You need to leave.

_It's a certainty, drumming again and again at the back of his skill._

_You know you have to go._

_You can't stay here. You can't keep doing this. Just open the door and fly away. You could do it. Just leave them all behind-_

_(They're your family-)_

_He rubs his hands together, frantically, scrubbing until they hurt, and the blood is sticky and smells too strong and he can't get it off, can't get it off, can't get it off._

_You have to go, go, go-_

Michael jolts upright with a startled gasp.

His heart's slamming in his chest, and for a moment he has no idea where he is or what year it is or what's going on. For a moment he's a child again, waking from night terrors stifling screams to avoid waking the others in the room. For a moment he's that teen who just got out, sleeping on a dirty old mattress while squatting in a rundown house, dazed and half-asleep and seized with fear that none of this has been real, that he never actually left, that he's not free after all.

"Michael?"

Ryan's next to him, and suddenly it all comes flooding back. He'd taken a brief nap before the hit - he'd hoped to get more sleep than this, but the alarm he set hasn't even gone off yet. It's evening by now, the room starting to darken into an odd twilight, and Ryan's arm's around his shoulders, pulling him close.

"You alright?" he asks, gently. "Looked like you were having a hell of a dream."

Michael can't bring himself to respond. His chest hurts, and he still can't stop gasping for breath, and he leans forward, bracing his hands against his knees. For a moment he expects them to be covered in blood.

He remembers what he was dreaming of. Bodies. Human bodies - or pieces of them - the things that are seared into his memory. The smell of death. The taste of it. How covered in corpses he's been since he was just a kid, how every inch of his skin has felt the grisly touch of another's blood. 

You get desensitised to it. Sometimes it makes him sick, just how terrible what Kant did to them was. He wonders how Dodger can't see it. Children - just fucking _children_ \- being forced to kill, to maim, to grow used to what it is to torture another human being. It's a wonder any of them still have anything close to a conscience. And it's left him fucked up, he can feel it deep inside, like some piece of him has been twisted askew that he can't ever straighten out. It's probably why he stayed in the gang business instead of leaving entirely. Why he can kill cops and criminals alike without losing a night's sleep over it. Why his job involves viewing people as loose ends to be tied up.

He doesn't want to be like this, but he _is_ and he can't stop, and it hits him in waves, and right now he feels so thoroughly broken that all he can do is sit there, and stares at his hands - the scars and grazes and the sharp knobs of his knuckles - and buckle under the weight of all the lives they've taken.

"Michael?" Ryan asks again, squeezing his shoulders. Michael still can't bring himself to look at him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Ramsey has a code," he manages finally. "But for a long time I didn't, and sometimes I can't stop thinking about how Kant made me what I am today. Sometimes I'm fine with it. Sometimes I'm proud of where I am now. But sometimes I still feel like a killer, like a monster. It's like my fucking shadow, it follows me everywhere, trails behind me. Sometimes it's big, sometimes it's small, but it's not something I can shake off."

Ryan bites his lip. They've spoken about this before, and words can't really help. Nothing can.

"When we kill the Lost," he begins, and Michael clenches his fists.

"They were kids like me once. They couldn't break free of it. They're so fucked up they can't ever change now, they can't ever see human life for what it is. They're too far gone; they deserve to die. And if I'd stayed with them, I would too. Hell, maybe I still do-"

"Don't you fucking say that," Ryan snaps, and his fingers tighten on Michael's shoulder.  "I mean it. Don't even fucking go there. You were a victim too, in a different way. Did you do a lot of bad things, yes, but you were a child in a vulnerable position and I'm guessing you couldn't exactly have refused Kant."

Michael doesn't answer, but his jaw clenches hard. Part of him doesn't want to let himself accept Ryan's words, doesn't feel like he deserves them. That was part of why he was alone for so long.

_You think after everything you've done you deserve love? Forgiveness?_

But Ryan - wonderful Ryan - knows that look on his face; he's seen it before, broken it down before, lived it himself. He pushes at Michael's shoulder until he's forced to look up at him.

"There are a thousand times you could have run away since you joined the crew," he says. "When we came up against Gemini or the Corpirate, when we met other bad men, when we tried to help the people in this city in different ways. Not once did I see you falter to take out gangs who behaved like the Lost do now. And even here and now - you could have left this job for the rest of us to deal with. You didn't."

"Because they're my fucking loose ends to tie up."

"Because you're taking responsibility. Maybe after this you'll feel like you found some sort of redemption. Maybe you won't, and you'll keep looking. But if there's one thing I know about you, Michael, it's that you _will_ keep looking, and _looking_ , and maybe one day you'll feel like you've washed your hands clean."

"With new blood-"

"There are bad people in this city. In this world." Ryan lets out a shaky breath. "I was one of them once. You were too. And a lot of innocent people out there just get caught in the crossfire. Don't get me wrong, we're no heroes, but we do try and get rid of the worst of them. People like Dodger, and the Harts, and Clayton."

"Clayton," Michael murmurs, and thinks of Gavin's bruised neck and hunched walk, and feels something hot and angry pierce through his chest.

"No one else is gonna deal with them, not the way we have to. We take them out, we stop others getting hurt. Maybe that's our way of paying back some of the blood we owe."

"Maybe," Michael murmurs, but his mind's still on Clayton. "Gavin, he... he's kinda in the same situation, isn't he?"

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't want to help Gemini do what they do. But he can't leave, and he's too scared to run away. They'd come after him."

Ryan's eyes widen. He nods, slowly, his hand moving to rub Michael's back.

"He is," he agrees, and Michael's fists clench, unclench.

"We have to help him. We have to get him out of there. We owe him that, after everything. We... owe that."

"We do," Ryan says, and when he pulls Michael into a hug he doesn't resist - lets himself lean against the other man, accept the comfort, let the doubts leach away, at least for now. They have a job to do. 

 

* * *

 

The sun's about to set. The car's loaded up with everything they need, their guns are full of ammo, and all that's left is to get out there and do it.

They're monitoring the base constantly, glancing again and again at the cams they have on the roads around the compound. There was some movement before, but no one's left - yet. But if Gavin's right, tomorrow morning they'll be gone for sure. Michael knows he sure wouldn't stay sitting around if his home had been compromised like that.

It's not raining again, but it was freezing when Michael stepped outside earlier to put something in the car, and there's a strong wind blowing. Still - the darkness and gloom will only give them more cover to set things up. He goes inside and pauses, feeling like he's forgotten something, but after running a mental checklist he can't come up with anything.

_Just paranoid. You gotta stop. Freaking out will only get in the way of the job._

Gavin's doing some last minute scribbling on the map over in the corner. He hasn't got his body armour on yet, and Michael grabs it and heads over to him before pausing.

"You wearing that?" he asks, and Gavin turns and looks down at himself, then back up at him with a quizzical look.

"I mean, I was going to. Black would make it easier to hide in the dark." He pulls at his jacket and glances at Michael quizzically. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"You'll freeze, dude. And if it starts raining you'll be soaked." Gavin has his hoodie on, but it's a ratty old thing and Michael's pretty sure it doesn't do much considering how high he's always setting the fucking aircon, even when they're in the house. "You got a thicker coat?"

Gavin looks embarrassed. He shakes his head, and Michael carefully doesn't react, remembering suddenly his embarrassment when he couldn't read, how much it helped that Kant just took it in stride.

"Oh! I'll lend you one of mine then, no problem. Wait here a sec."

A strained gratitude passes across Gavin's face. Michael darts quickly to his room and returns with a rainproof, fleece-lined parka. It's got to be about ten times warmer than what Gavin's got on, and when he holds it out Gavin looks down and smiles.

"Thanks, Michael," he says softly, and the little smile on his face makes something flutter in Michael's chest, pleased that he could be the one to put it there.

"Hey, no problem. Last thing we want is someone else getting sick, right?"

"Right." He shrugs his old jacket off and Michael holds up the body armour before he can put the new one on.

"I'll give you a hand with this."

Every single time he does something - gives Gavin food, or a jacket, or patches him up - he sees the same look on his face. An awkward desire, but at the same time a hesitation, and Michael knows exactly what it is. It's a look he's seen on his face, on Ryan's, even on Ray's. When you want to trust, but you're scared. And it can take a while, but once that look stops appearing every time - that's when you're getting somewhere.

That's when things start to get better.

And even now, as he pulls the armour over Gavin's head, fastens it and tightens the strap - the other man doesn't stiffen or flinch, and his shoulders aren't tense even when Michael has to gently nudge his arms out of the way or put one hand on his back to steady him. It's nice to know that at least one person isn't scared of him anymore; at least one person doesn't see him as a monster. After all that's happened, he wouldn't blame Gavin if he never wanted any of them to touch him again. But it seems like he's finally broken through all that, at least with Michael, and for a moment it settle him, and makes him feel like maybe this will be okay.

"You good?" he asks, when he's finished and hands Gavin the parka again.

Gavin nods, pulling it on, and the sight of him in Michael's clothes gives him another funny thrill.

"Yeah. That's a lot better," he adds, with an awkward little chuckle. "Thanks, Michael."

"All good." They share a smile and he can see it, deep in Gavin's eyes. He is starting to trust them. Maybe this can go well after all. "I take care of my boys."

Gavin looks startled - then grins again, wider this time, realer, more carefree, and Michael grins back, and when he takes Gavin's arm to lead him to where Ryan's waiting, he doesn't pull away.

 

* * *

 

The traps have been set, a combination of minor explosive charges and spikes to run the vehicles off the road. The night was long and cold, but now the sun is finally on the brink of rising, the sky beginning to turn an ashy grey as dawn approaches, and Michael and Ryan crouch off behind the bushes at the roadside, waiting for the signal.

"Lucky it's not raining," Michael murmurs, pulling the cords of his hood tighter. It's been freezing all night, and even with gloves on his hands are feeling the cold. Not to mention the fucking wind - it stings his eyes and makes it damn hard to see if you're facing it. He needs fucking goggles or something.

"That's the only good thing you could say about this weather at the moment," Ryan grunts. With his mask on, at least his face is protected from the elements, but even he has his hands jammed under his arms and is bouncing on his heels where they're hiding. After a moment, Michael shuffles to press against his side; Ryan puts one arm around him and pulls him closer. Michael shoots him a small smile.

"This is the coldest winter we've had in a while."

"Good excuse for cuddling," Ryan says, and Michael laughs.

"Was thinking of a very different way to warm up when we get home, but yeah. That too. At least it's getting brighter."

He peers down the road. It's a deserted strip, and in the dim dawn light it looks quite eerie, especially against the backdrop of half-finished construction and the distant factories. Like something from a post-apocalyptic film. 

There's a crackle from the radio, and Gavin's voice rings out.

"Still clear, but lights have started turning on in the compound. If they leave, it'll be soon."

"Thanks. Keep an eye out. You doing okay over there, Gav?" Michael asks.

He doesn't like the thought of the other man waiting out there alone. If the Lost got a hold of him, he'd be fucking defenceless, and Michael knows they won't hesitate to make an example of one of Gemini's men. The thought makes him feel deeply, deeply sick. But he saw Gavin's hiding spot, and he has to admit it'll be hard for them to spot him. He should be fine.

_You can't let him get hurt. Not again._

The ferocity with which he believes it almost startles him. A determination so intense he thinks he'd do anything to make sure it happens.

"I'm fine," Gavin replies. "Still hidden. A bit cold, but that's fine."

"After this we'll all go home and have hot coffee," Ryan says.

"With rum?" Michael asks hopefully, and Ryan laughs.

"If necessary."

"Rum and cream go well together," Gavin announces, and Michael can't help his smile at the other man contributing to the conversation for once. He's pleased he seems more comfortable with them.

"I'll take your word for it, Gav."

The radio goes silent again, and he turns to Ryan to see him looking down. He nudges him.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About?" Michael prompts, and sees Ryan give a heavy sigh. Maybe this isn't the best time, right before a hit and in the middle of all this drama, but he doesn't like the slump to Ryan's shoulders, or how he's gone quiet.

"I... I couldn't stop dreaming about Wendy the other night." He can hear the tightness in Ryan's voice. It's still there, all the time, whenever the topic comes up. He never tells Michael happy stories about his fiancée. He just avoids talking about it altogether. It's a clear sign that he's not over it, that the wound hasn't even begun to start healing. He's just buried it away under layers and layers of paint and masks and blood and new memories with Michael, like an oyster building a slow pearl; something new and beautiful, but only ever covering that initial hurt. "It's stupid, and I know I was just sick, but... I keep thinking if there's more I could have done to save her."

"Ryan. There isn't. You told me what happened and I'm telling you, objectively, there is nothing you could have done. Those men were going to shoot her either way. There's no way they weren't."

His tone comes out a little harsher than intended, but Ryan doesn't react.

"You say that," he says slowly, "But maybe I didn't do enough. Maybe I said the wrong thing. Maybe I just didn't try. Just like how the other day, we didn't try hard enough to stop Gavin going to Clayton."

"We weren't sure what was happening," Michael snaps, but Ryan shakes his head.

"We had a good enough idea. Why'd we do it? To confirm our suspicions? To make sure? Because we wanted proof it wasn't all a trick or a trap?"

"Because we didn't want to make things worse," Michael begins, but Ryan's words have made his stomach sink.

It wasn't like that, he didn't... At the time, they'd had to let Gavin go. They weren't sure yet, weren't sure about a lot of things, and the bug would've let them know, and Gavin had been so panicked that it seemed cruel to force him to stay.

But as they sat there listening to what was going on... oh, he'd regretted it then, would've given anything to go back in time and shut the door, lock it, sit Gavin down and demand he tell them the truth. It probably wouldn't have gone well, but by God, he'd wished he could do it. The sound of every blow, every grunt of pain, had taken him back to twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old with blood on his hands and scabby knuckles and knowing the best ways to inflict pain.

"It wasn't like that," he repeats, and Ryan looks at him. He must notice the look on his face, because he softens, reaching out and gripping Michael's shoulder.

"I don't mean to blame you," he says quickly. "Fuck, you're right, we... we didn't do it deliberately, I just... I feel bad about it. I feel bad and I feel responsible. We can't let him get hurt more, Michael. Not on our watch. I can't lose someone again."

It's telling, that by now Ryan cares enough. Michael knows how hard it is for him - how vulnerable it makes him to have someone else who could get hurt. 

"We'll keep him safe," he whispers back, and squeezes Ryan's hand. "Together."

Ryan nods, and Michael sees something in his shoulders relax. 

"Even if we can't help him," Michael adds, "Geoff will. He's good at that, you know it. _We'll fix this."_

"Okay," Ryan murmurs, and Michael reaches up and touches the rubber cheek of his mask.

"This won't be like Wendy again," he whispers. "Or Ray. We won't lose him."

Ryan nods, and for a moment that certainty that this is different to other consultants they've worked with, other citizens they've saved, is remarkably acute. It's something they'll have to talk about later on. But right now they have other things to focus on, and the radio crackles again.

"The gates are opening," Gavin says. "They're not headed out yet, but they will be soon. ETA fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty."

"Got it," Michael says, and takes a deep breath and forces himself to harden. He has more motivation than ever to get this done; they have other problems to deal with, and he's sick of his past being back to haunt him. "Stay hidden, Gav. Even once they're gone - you don't know who else might come out of the compound. We'll pick you up when we're done here."

"Got it," Gavin whispers.

Michael lowers the radio and turns to Ryan. He smiles.

"Let's finish this," he says, and Ryan nods. He lifts the bottom of his mask up and Michael leans in, hands resting on his shoulders, and kisses him - quick and soft.

"Love you," he murmurs, and Ryan smiles.

"I love you too. You'll get sick-"

"I don't care. Besides, once you show symptoms you're past the contagious stage anyway."

"I... don't think that's true," Ryan says, and Michael laughs.

"How do you blow your nose with that thing on?" he asks, as Ryan pulls his mask down again and rises. They're gonna attack from opposite sides of the road.

"I don't. It just sort of accumulates."

"That's fucking disgusting."

Ryan blows him another mocking kiss and Michael laughs, rolling his eyes fondly. Maybe it's a morbid routine, maybe it invites bad luck making sure that no matter if they've been fighting, no matter what happens, they make sure they kiss before a job. They make sure they say it.

But he knows what happened with Wendy, and if this can alleviate Ryan's fears even a little, Michael will give him that. It's the least he can do. It makes him feel better, too, because you never know in their job. You just - never know.

 

* * *

 

Michael wakes up with a splitting headache, a foul taste in his mouth, and absolutely no fucking clue where he is.

His hands are tied behind his back, the rope looped around some sort of pipe on the wall. That’s the first rather alarming thing he notices, as he blearily regains consciousness. The next is that wherever he is, it’s not the base and it’s not the house and it’s not the city. He slowly registers the cement floor under him, and stone walls around him. No furniture. No windows. A single, heavy duty metal door on the other side of the room. The place slightly rundown and weatherworn and really, really fucking cold.

“What the fuck,” he groans, and forces himself to sit up a bit and take stock of his aching body.

The last thing he remembers is… well, he’s not quite sure, really. His head’s pounding and it’s hard to focus long enough to put things together.

_The job,_ he remembers. _We were on the job._

The traps had worked exactly as they were supposed to. In a series of chaotic events, two cars had exploded and the rest had been forced to veer off road, crashing into the bushland on either side of the highway. Michael and Ryan had started shooting, picking off those still in the cars or getting out of them, one after another with brutal efficiency. There’d been more than they expected - mercenaries, maybe, or reinforcements - but things had been well under control.

At least - and it was coming back to him now - until someone had hit him from behind with what’d felt a hell of a lot like a baseball bat, kicking his gun out of his hand and pinning him down.

“Michael?” he remembered Ryan shouting into his earpiece - clear panic in his voice - and someone had emerged from the cars with a fucking minigun and started pelting the side of the road where he was. Michael stomach sinks at the memory of it - how he’d tried to struggle to his feet, afraid Ryan had been shot, but there’d been a heavy boot on his back pinning him down, and someone was already forcing a bag over his head and tying his wrists behind his back.

_How the fuck did they get behind me,_ he was thinking, but as he was hauled upright, someone holding him tightly, they leaned in and muttered in his ear.

“You think we don’t know your tricks, Mikey? They’re the same ones we used to use.”

And then there’d been nothing but the sweet smell of chloroform, and he must’ve passed out.

His back hurts, now, where he was hit, but nothing’s bleeding or broken, and the headache’s just from the chloroform. Unless they dosed him again he can’t have been out for too long, he reasons, so he must not be too far from the base.

_Ryan,_ he realises, and feels a flash of panic.

He never found out what happened to the other man. If he was hit - injured, or worse - if he might be captured too, and in another room somewhere here. But that minigun… he didn’t hear it get taken out, and for a moment his stomach sinks into his boots.

_No. Don’t think about that. He’s fine, he has to be._

But even if he did get out - he must be freaking out right now, if Michael was the only one who got captured. The thought makes his heart clench; this is Ryan’s worst fear come true.

He hears voices through the wall suddenly - yelling at each other. Not angrily - relaying commands, making some sort of plan. A moment later, there’s a sound at the door - several bolts being unlocked and a key turning, and he sits up a bit, heart pounding nervously.

It’s Dodger.

He's looking rather worse for wear, his face stained with bruises and a bloodstained bandage wrapped tightly around his upper arm. He hasn't shaved in a few days, a messy beard and dark bags under his eyes making it perfectly clear that this last week has been just as hectic for the Lost as it has been for them.

But he's here - alive, and staring at Michael with dark, intent eyes. There's a water bottle hanging from one hand as he leans in the doorway.

"Awake, then?" he drawls, and Michael snarls and pulls at his restraints.

"Dodger, what the fuck is this? You've fucking kidnapped me?"

"Don't get on your high horse after you just tried to kill us all, Michael," Dodger snaps, and Michael... can't really argue with that. But after a moment Dodger's face softens a little and he steps forward, moving right up to Michael and crouching in front of him.

"Where are we?" Michael demands. He's trembling and can't quite tell why; he's not scared of Dodger even if he knows he should be, but this whole situation is deeply unsettling. He isn't sure what's going on, or where the others are, or what they want with him. All he knows is that he didn't want to be around these people ever again.

"I can't tell you that," Dodger says.

"Where are the others? What do you want from me?"

"You must be thirsty after being knocked out like that. Here." Dodger uncaps the bottle - it's sealed, opens with a crack - and offers it to him. Michael eyes it suspiciously, and Dodger rolls his eyes and takes a swig himself before holding it to Michael's lips again, tilting it gently back so he can drink. Reassured, Michael drinks eagerly, washing away the taste the chloroform left in his mouth.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Dodger says, as he watches him. "You're my brother. I wouldn't harm you, torture you, kill you... though you don't seem to have the same qualms."

Michael pulls back, twisting to wipe his mouth as best he can against his sleeve as Dodger sits back on his heels. Their eyes meet, and Michael glares at him defensively. He can see anger burning deeply in Dodger's eyes.

"Back when we were kids, if one of us got hurt, the rest of us would go after whoever did it," Dodger says. "Don't you remember? When that guy killed Alice it hit all of us hard. We tore him to fucking shreds."

"I remember," Michael has to admit; Alice had been fifteen and one of Kant's best thieves. Another gang in the city had caught her. It hadn't been pretty. He'd been sixteen and bloodthirsty at the time and he and Dodger had led the hunt for the guys who killed her. For a moment, he feels a brief pang. Back then he'd been part of something - family, a group who had each others' backs, who'd kill and die for each other.

He found that again with the Fakes, and it's different, it's better-

But once he had that with Dodger, too, and all the rest. He feels sick looking back at it now.

"So I won't hurt you," Dodger says, and his lips twist as he rises. "That would be _disloyal,_ wouldn't it?"

He rises and paces across the room, and Michael shifts uncomfortably, the ropes digging into his wrists. He can tell Dodger's annoyed with him. It's not hard to guess why.

"You came into our territory," Michael says angrily. "You attacked and killed our consultants. You framed us for heists you pulled against civilians. You've had ample opportunity to leave, but you didn't. My job is to take you out, so I-"

"Snuck into our base twice in the dead of night and killed our people. Just doing your job, right, Michael?" Dodger demands. "You know one of the women your precious Vagabond killed was Teresa, right? Standing there having a cup of cocoa in the kitchen, just like she used to make for you when you'd have nightmares - and he shot her dead in cold blood and didn't look back."

Michael's stomach sinks.

"And Aristo, who was up on the wall that night, sniped by one of your men? Sixteen years old. He'd found a family in us after his own kicked him out onto the streets. Just a fucking kid. But you don't care about that, do you? Not unless it serves your own argument."

Michael's jaw clenches, and Dodger takes a step towards him, making a furious, aborted little gesture.

"Those people were my friends! My _family!_ And they weren't just killed in the line of duty, they were killed by my little fucking brother! The others wanted to execute you, you know? Most of them weren't around back in Pete’s time. They don't care who you are. They wanted to gut you like a fucking fish and leave you as an example for Ramsey. I stopped them. They're not happy about it. If I wasn't co-leader of this crew they wouldn't have listened. You are only here because I saved your fucking life."

"If you had any sense," Michael growls, and can't stop himself even if he knows it's stupid, "You wouldn't have. I'm not your brother anymore, Dodger. I killed him that night when I ran away and I'd do it again. I'm not that person anymore."

"And who are you then?" Dodger sneers. "Oh, you're _Mogar_ now? You think he's any better than Hook? You commit the same crimes-"

"Not against innocents-"

"You kill just as many. You're murdering my people without a second thought, people you were once loyal to. Not just a murderer, but a traitor. And you think you're any better than us? You Fakes don't do anything to protect this city, not really. You do things for the same reason we always did. Money. Power. Control. At least you used to be able to own up to it."

Each word is like a slap, and Michael shakes his head furiously.

"It's not like that," he snarls. "Geoff's code-"

"-is a fucking _lie_ , Michael!" Dodger yells, and suddenly he's crouched in front of him again. "He's just the same as Pete; all he wants is to be top dog in this city."

"He goes about it differently," Michael argues, but breaks off when Dodger grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him forward until his wrists strain against the ropes.

"Maybe he tells himself that. Maybe you even suck up to the citizens in the city. But in the end we're all liars, killers, thieves. We're all in it for our own gain or we wouldn't be in it at all. Don't pretend you're a fucking hero, because you're not, Michael. I know you. You get a thrill from it, don't you? The heists, the violence, the adrenaline. You enjoy it. You wouldn't leave it all behind, not for the world."

Michael's jaw clenches. They do have fun on their heists. He does love Ryan for his strength and power, not just his softness and sweetness. He's not about to admit it. There's a grain of truth in Dodger's words, but-

After all he's done, he can't go back to civilian life. It was never an option. And what he does now, it's not the same as what he did back then. It's not as bad, it can't be. The police aren't gonna take control in this city so if Geoff can help at all, even if he's not exactly a saint, it makes him the lesser of a great many evils.

_Don't let him get into your head. You've spent years shedding the Lost like a second fucking skin. You know what's true. You know who you are._

_It's him who can't see it. He never could_.

He looks away, gritting his teeth, and after a long moment of strained silence the look on Dodger’s face shifts. His grip on Michael’s shirt loosens, and he takes his shoulders instead, looking at him pleadingly.

“I missed you,” he whispers, so earnestly that Michael knows it’s no lie. “Come home.”

Michael stares at him, and Dodger bites his lip.

“Don’t you remember the good times we used to have? Working together, Michael, you and I… we could rule this city, or any other one. The Michael I used to know would fit perfectly with the rest of us. Hell, you could even lead by my side with the others one day - once they trust you. I get it, you were a kid, you got scared, you ran. But we’re grown up now. You don’t have to be scared any more. We know what we are - don’t run with Ramsey and keep lying to yourself that you’re somehow saving everyone around here. _Embrace_ it.”

Michael stares at him, aghast. Dodger’s eyes are wide and almost pleading. He doesn’t doubt that the other man means every single word that’s coming out of his mouth.

And the scary part is, some part of him almost wants to believe what he’s saying. Not because he wants to leave Ryan and Geoff and the others, not because he wants to kill again - but some small, self-loathing portion of his mind _agrees_ that _you’re not a hero. Own what you are. A killer, a murderer, a monster. You’ve been lying to yourself trying to believe that’s not who you are anymore. Time to wake up._

_You deserve to have to face it._

But he thinks of Ryan, and Gavin, and shakes his head fiercely, shrugging Dodger off.

“I’m not going to turn on my crew,” he says, fiercely, and Dodger scowls.

“But you’ll turn on us?” he demands, and Michael glares at him. After a moment Dodger sighs, and stands.

"Well, I’ll make you see soon enough,” he says, and heads for the door, glancing over his shoulder with a grin Michael doesn’t like the look of as he goes. “I know you’re still in there somewhere, brother.”

Michael stares after him, and as the door shuts and bolts behind him he lets out a shaky breath and tries to settle back against the wall as best he can with his hands bound. All his false bravery has drained away; he feels sick and shaky.

_You’re still in there somewhere -_ that’s exactly what he’s scared of, and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take deep breaths, and hopes desperately that Ryan’s okay, that he’s somewhere out there with Gavin, that they’ll manage to _fix_ all this before it’s too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cooliohoolio wrote a [super cool fic about Ryan and Wendy!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11571390) Thank you so much <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Gore/graphic violence (not inflicted on a main character), panic attacks.

**xix. save it for later**

_The worst part is, he doesn't even get the body._

_After it happens they throw them out in the street with a message for his uncle, and he sits there for hours in the pouring rain, shaking and numb, unable to quite wrap his head around what happened, that she's gone, gone, gone-_

_The gunshot. The blood. It plays over and over and not once does it ever feel real, does it sink in. The rain soaks him to the bone until he's so cold he can't feel a thing, and he just can't believe this is happening. Any moment now he'll wake up and it'll just be a nightmare, any minute she'll step out the door after him. This can't be the end. It just isn't possible, that he'll never see her face again, feel her touch, hear her voice. It can't be real._

_But it is, and the hours and hours wear on and he doesn't wake up, and they never do get her back. He never does know what they did with her; if they buried her, burned her, threw the body in a ditch somewhere, all he knows if that he never fucking sees her again and sometimes he still expects to wake up five years ago in bed with her next to him, and the only reminder he has of what year it is and where he is now is the weight of the ring around his neck-_

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, this isn't happening, this isn't-"

Ryan storms into the living room and makes a beeline for the nearest bare wall. He punches it as hard as he can and regrets it immediately as pain explodes in his knuckles - but ignores it, pushing through and kicking at it instead, again and again until the paint chips and the plaster crumbles under the force of his blows. After a moment he whirls around and overturns the coffee table. There are still mugs on it from this morning and they fall with a crash and the sound of breaking china as the table falls on top of them.

He pauses, chest heaving. A restless energy surges through his veins and he doesn't feel cold, now, no, he feels like he's on fire and it's spreading down every nerve. Everything aches and he just needs to get it all _out-_

_Michael's gone._

He still can't believe it - how quickly everything went to shit. They'd killed five more of the Lost before that asshole with the minigun showed up and Ryan had been forced to dive back behind cover, to crawl away through the bushes. He shed his coat and left it behind and it worked; they saw it through the shrubbery and assumed it was his body, and were too busy tending to their own wounded to stop and check.

But when he looked up again through the scope of his rifle, he saw them hauling a limp Michael away in one of their cars, and his blood had run cold. He'd wanted to get up right then and run after them, to kill every last one of them to get him back-

But he hadn't. He'd stayed put, somehow, managing to break through his panic just long enough to realise that was a surefire way to get both of them killed. They didn't kill Michael right away; that means they don't want him dead just yet. There’s no time to waste - but they do still have _time_ , a little at least, to put together a plan.

And he wants to think about this logically, to figure something out, but with every second that passes his chest feels tighter and tighter and even now he can barely think straight because _they're going to hurt him_ is at the forefront of his mind _. They're going to hurt him, maybe kill him, and you'll lose someone all over again, you'll fucking lose him and you can't you can't you can't-_

He's panicking.

He realises it with a funny sort of detachment. His back's against the wall now and he's breathing so fast he feels dizzy, heaving in great lungfuls of air and letting them rush out again just as quickly. Every single one feels like he's being stabbed in the chest. He can’t tell if his heart’s beating too fast, or not at all.

All he can think is _no, no, no. This can't be happening, not again._

There's movement at the door, and he looks up to see Gavin slinking into the room. He'd gone to pick him up after realising what happened to Michael. The drive back was tense and silent, and he sees Gavin freeze, looking at the dent in the wall, the overturned coffee table. His shoulders hunch up and his face goes pale, and though he looks like he wants to come over, he doesn't.

"Ryan," he calls out softly.

Ryan doesn't answer. He slumps against the wall and slides to sit on the floor, cradling his sore hands in front of him and gasping. After a moment he reaches up and pulls his mask off, tugs at the straps of his body armour, trying to loosen it all so he can _breathe._

"Ryan," Gavin repeats, tentatively.

Ryan's vaguely becoming aware of more pain. One of the bullets grazed him during the fight, and he's bruised from where he flung himself to the ground and crawled away. His face feels wet too, but when he reaches up it's only paint that comes away on his fingers, washing away with the tears that are running down his cheeks. His vision blurs, and he's vaguely aware of Gavin leaving. He can't bring himself to move.

_You have to get up. You have to go after him. You have to fix this._

But for a while all he can do is sit there, his chest swelling with so much pain he almost thinks his heart will burst, and let out awful choking noises, trying in vain to breathe deeply, to calm himself down.

He isn't sure how much time passes. Surely not as long as it feels. After some time he realises Gavin's back in the room, inching towards him like he's scared Ryan's still angry. Ryan looks up, and he's sure he must seem terribly pathetic - congested and tearful, eyes red, paint running down his face, crumpled on the ground like a wet tissue. But Gavin's face is sympathetic, and he's got a steaming mug in one hand and the first aid kit in the other.

"Can I come close?" he whispers.

Ryan manages a jerking nod. Gavin shuffles forward and places them both on the floor next to him.

"I'll be back in a second," he says softly. "Drink that. You need it."

He slips away again, and Ryan listlessly picks up the mug. It's full of tea, but Gavin's left a pill in the dish beside it, one of the painkillers Michael gave him to bring his fever down. Ryan swallows it without too much thought and starts drinking just for the sake of having something to do. He feels heavy, like he couldn't get up if he wanted to, but the drink warms him and after a moment his mind stops racing and he feels his breathing even out. His head's pounding now, both from being sick and the tears, and soon everything just aches, leaving him drained and tired.

Gavin returns, holding a dish of water and a face-washer. He inches closer, pausing a few metres from Ryan.

Now that he's come back to himself a little, Ryan feels a lurking, sick guilt at how he lost control. It must've scared Gavin. He makes an effort to unclench his fists, relax his shoulders.

"You can come closer," he mumbles. "I'm not angry. Won't touch you."

Something relaxes in Gavin's face. He kneels next to Ryan and reaches out.

"Can I?"

Ryan nods, and closes his eyes as Gavin dabs at his face. The water's warm, and the washcloth is soft. It's comforting, and he remembers the first time Michael did this, after a hit that went badly wrong in which Geoff lost three of his regular mercenaries. It was one of the first jobs they took together. He hadn't wanted to be vulnerable, but he'd broken his wrist and sprained his shoulder, and Michael was so efficient that it'd been easy to let him help without feeling too embarrassed. Right now he's too exhausted to care much that he's letting Gavin see him with all his walls down.

"We're going to get him back," Gavin whispers, and Ryan's eyes open. Gavin's movements are carefully gentle, and when he meets Ryan's eyes he can see the determination in them. He's scared and concerned, too, but there's a blazing fury deep in his eyes that makes Ryan suddenly think that he's stronger than both he and Michael have assumed so far.

"Of course," he croaks, but Gavin shakes his head.

"I mean it. I don't think Dodger will hurt him. As soon as we have you patched up I'll start on the plan. We'll get him _back_ , Ryan, I promise."

"Thank you," Ryan manages to whisper, and Gavin gives a small smile.

"It's okay," he replies softly. "I know this must be terrifying. I mean, it's scary for me but it must be a hundred times worse for you. I know this is part of the risk in our jobs but still, it..."

He trails off, not quite seeming to know what to say, and Ryan lowers his head. Everything inside him still feels like a pressure he needs to release. He's speaking before he can even really stop himself.

"If I lost him, I don't know what I'd do. I don't think I could keep going."

He hears Gavin suck in his breath, but continues without looking at him.

"I mean it. I couldn't live without him. I can't go through this again. Years ago, before I was with Michael..." He reaches up and pulls the ring out from around his neck, clutching it in his hand. It's warm from where it's been tucked under all his clothes, against his chest, and he bites his lip. "My fiancée. Wendy. We were childhood sweethearts. Fuck, we'd practically been dating since we were thirteen years old."

"You must've been really close," Gavin says, so quietly Ryan can barely hear him.

"We were inseparable. We were like a part of each other. I knew her as well as I knew myself, and vice versa. We ended up in the gang business together - bounty hunters. Worked for my uncle's crew. My parents weren't the nicest people," he adds with a wry smile, "And neither were hers, and for a long time all we had was each other. One day it all just - went wrong."

His voice cracks and suddenly he thinks he might cry again. Gavin looks alarmed.

"Ryan... you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he says, but Ryan's already speaking again, barely registering his words.

"It was meant to be a simple job. A simple hit. But we just got careless and didn't realise there were so many men in the crew with him. We got caught and he recognised me - knew who my uncle was. We'd been in scrapes before, but we always got out of them. Not this time."

Bile rises in his throat as he think back to it. The dark warehouse. The ropes around his wrists. Her green eyes staring at him from across the room. He remembers it like it was yesterday.

"They had a gun to both our heads. They asked me which one of us we should kill. I... I thought I could talk us out of it, I thought we could still somehow figure things out. So I said something stupid, I wasted time, and they shot her. Not a word more, they just fucking shot her, right in front of me, and in an instant she was gone. Just like that. It didn't feel real."

His voice is flat and numb, but inside he feels like he's being torn to pieces, the gunshot ringing out over and over again at the back of his head. He's trembling visibly by this point, and can't stop.

Gavin's stopped washing his face. Has sat back and is staring at him, arms wrapped around himself. Ryan trails off and sits there, head bowed, silent. He feels like crying, but the tears won't come again. After a moment Gavin reaches out, tentatively, and touches his arm. His hand is warm and when Ryan doesn't pull away, he shifts to sit next to him, putting one arm around Ryan's shoulders and pulling him into a gentle half-hug.

Usually Ryan hate anyone showing pity to him; hates feeling vulnerable, looking so pathetic. But things feel different with Gavin, and he leans into his touch and lets himself be comforted, if only for a moment.

"Five years," he chokes out. "And it still fucking hurts."

"You don't just get over something like that," Gavin replies, quietly. "It wasn't your fault, Ryan, but I can see why you wouldn't be able to stop... stop going over and over it in your head. What if I'd made a different decision? How different would things be today? How much pain might've been avoided?"

"Exactly."

"One stupid choice and it changes your whole life. And there's nothing you can do about it. That's the worst part about these things. No matter how much you want to, you can't change the past. You can't go back in time. It seems so... unfair."

Ryan nods. Gavin's arm is warm around him, and beneath his cheek he can feel the other man's chest rising and falling. He smells familiar, and it takes a moment for Ryan to realise that it's because he's wearing Michael's jacket. It smells like the soap he uses, faintly like the particular brands of deodorant and aftershave that Ryan associates with him. If he closes his eyes and breathes in, he can almost imagine that it's his boyfriend holding him-

But it's not, it's Gavin. He's thinner, his arm bony where it's wrapped around Ryan, and his breathing sounds different, and somehow that's okay. Somehow this is good, too.

There's a long silence. After a moment Gavin shifts. He looks like he's about to say something, but seems to think better of it. But Ryan sits up a little and looks at him - a bit calmer now, a bit more controlled. Soon, they'll get up and get going. For now, though, there's something between them - a companionship that makes it feel easy to say anything. He doesn't want to break it quite yet.

"I..." Gavin begins, and he seems to be struggling. Ryan takes his hand on impulse, squeezing gently. Gavin looks down at their tangled fingers and takes a deep breath.

"I don't work for Gemini," he whispers, and Ryan stares at him.

"What?" he manages.

"I don't work for Gemini." Gavin's so tense he's shaking, squeezing Ryan's hand like a lifeline. "I... I don't work for them. I'm not an employee. I'm not a crew member. There's no contract."

"I don't understand," Ryan says, but Gavin looks at him now, and his eyes are dark and damp like he's about to cry, and from the way his voice is shaking Ryan can tell that this is the first time he's talked about this, that for whatever reason it's hard to get the words out.

Gavin swallows hard.

"I'm not under a contract," he repeats. "I'm a prisoner."

Ryan stares at him. His stomach sinks. It seems so fucking obvious in hindsight, but somehow the fact that they weren't expecting it, that they had a year of assumptions and seeing Gavin working with Gemini, made it a thought that just never crossed his mind.

"I came to Achievement City knowing nothing," Gavin continues, "And I made a stupid choice, and I walked into Gemini's territory and stole from them. Clayton was going to kill me, but I convinced him I was useful. He persuaded the Harts to keep me alive and so I started to work for him." He ducks his head, shaking. "I know it... it doesn't look like it. I mean, it's not like I'm chained in some basement forced to plan their heists and nothing else. But I don't get paid, and I can't go anywhere he doesn't tell me to, and I'm not meant to talk to anyone outside the crew unless it's for work. If I try to leave I know he'll come after me and I... I wouldn't get far anyway. I don't know how to fight, that's not what I do. I tried to escape once and he... punished me."

His lips twist bitterly. Ryan feels sick. He's staring at Gavin, feeling like he's seeing him for the first time. He knew things were bad, but hearing it said out loud feels like a slap.

_All this time, and we never knew-_

_And at first we were so convinced he hated us, that he was a bad person-_

_We're blind. We're blind and stupid and how could we not see? Michael and I, who've both been trapped by things for so long ourselves..._

"Gavin..." he begins, and Gavin's head ducks further.

"Sorry," he says, a bit nervously, "I didn't mean to... I just thought, you know... it's been a year. I know what it's like to feel so helpless, to question everything that got you into that situation. I know it's not exactly the same, but... you can't give up. You just keep going, keep surviving somehow. You have to. And I know that Michael's the priority right now, but I just thought I-"

"Don't," Ryan cuts in, and hates the way Gavin flinches at his sudden voice. "Gavin, don't... yes, it's important we get Michael back. That's the primary concern. But you matter too. Don't ever think you don't. Jesus Christ, if we'd known from the start... we're gonna help you. I promise."

He sees the way Gavin tenses - see the shock, then the hope, then the relief cross his face in flashes almost too quick to register. And the way he looks up at Ryan after that - tentatively, like he barely dares to believe it's true... it breaks Ryan's heart, how helpless he looks. How genuinely shocked that they actually care.

He swallows. He's been scared, yeah, of caring, of getting too close, and maybe what's happening with Michael right now should make it even more terrifying to admit there's someone else who matters so much to him.

But right now what scares him even more is the thought of losing _both_ of them - and he can't stop thinking about his dream, about chasing Gavin through those paper walls, about hearing him in trouble and not being able to move. Everything he said just now came out too easily. He knows it's too late.

He already cares. Nothing's gonna change that. All he can do is keep _both_ of them safe, or die trying.

"I... thank you," Gavin whispers. He still looks shocked - and Ryan can't help it, he reaches out and pulls him into a gentle hug. Gavin freezes, going stiff - but after a moment his arms wrap around Ryan with a sudden, tight fierceness, and he presses into him desperately, like it's the first hug he's had in years. It probably is, Ryan realises grimly, and squeezes him back, pulling him as close as he can. Gavin's face is buried in his shoulder and he can feel him shaking. Or maybe it's Ryan - or maybe they both are - and for a moment all the walls don't matter, or the fear. He's not alone. They're both here, alive - they'll get Michael back together.

"I promise," he whispers again, and Gavin's arms tighten around him. He doesn't want to let go, and finally he lets himself enjoy it, just for a moment - lets Gavin's warmth and touch calm him until he's breathing more steadily, until he feels more ready to stand up and face the world again.

"We’ll get him back," Gavin says finally, and pulls back. His eyes are red but Ryan doesn't comment; he knows his are, too. He nods, and manages a smile.

“Yeah.” In the calm silence that follows, the idea comes to him; now that he’s not freaking out, it’s easier to think straight. “Geoff got us all to put a tracking device on us. Just in case shit like this happens - it’s not the first time. It’s not precise, but it’ll give us the general area-”

"-and from there, I can trace down where they might be keeping him. Out in the countryside there can't be many places." Gavin nods, his eyes lighting up. "Where's the device? Is it likely they'll have found it?"

Ryan opens his mouth and points inside.

"Implanted in the back molar," he says, and grins. "No way they'll know it's there. It should be fine."

"Like Spy Kids. Great." Gavin scrambles to his feet and holds out a hand; Ryan takes it without hesitation and lets the other man haul him upright. For a moment they stand, gripping one another's arms tightly, staring into each other's eyes. "Let's go get him."

Ryan nods fiercely. For a moment he wants to hug Gavin again, but he refrains - just smiles, small but genuine. After a moment Gavin smiles back, and in a second Ryan's already resolved that _no matter what happens, after this we keep him safe. We get him the fuck out of there and we keep him safe. He trusted me enough to tell me what's going on - we don't have time to talk about it now, but surely he'll let us get him out of there. Surely._

_But for now - we save Michael._

_I'm not losing anyone else._

 

* * *

 

**xx. blood and guts**

_"I don't understand," Dodger says._

_They're standing in his room - by now the older kids, the ones who've been there years, have graduated from sleeping in the basement with the new recruits to having their own quarters. Michael's is filled with shelf after shelf of tattered books; he steals them as often as he can, devours each one, hungry to learn more. Dodger's is messier - covered in scattered clothes and weapons. Magazine covers are pasted over the walls, action movies and film stars and pop figures. Remnants of the childhood they never had, displayed in an eerie sort of collage._

_Standing in here with his big brother staring at him in confusion, Michael feels twelve years old and unsure of himself all over again. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stand his ground._

_"We shouldn't keep doing this. It's wrong. We're hurting innocent people-"_

_"No one's innocent here. What's got into you, Michael? I don't get it, what are you trying to say?" Dodger steps towards him, but Michael's not scared. They'd never hurt each other._

_"I'm saying that this is wrong. Everything we do, it's not... sure, let's kill police, let's kill other gangs, but the way we go after... after other kids-"_

_"They're kids like us. They want to survive, they should get tough like we did-"_

_"Kant shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be making us do it. He shouldn't be making the little ones, the new ones do it."_

_"We did it when we were their age." Dodger's face is just so fucking blank that Michael can see he's not gonna get it. That he's never gonna get it. That he just can't see it like Michael does, no matter what he says._

_"Besides, Kant knows what he's doing. You trust him, don't you?"_

_Michael can't answer that, and he sees the moment Dodger's certainty fades - when he realises Michael's not just playing around here. A flash of worry crosses his face, and his eyes darken._

_"Don't you, Michael?"_

"Come on."

Dodger's standing in the doorway again. It's been a few hours by now and Michael's been straining to hear anything from outside. A few distant shouts, an engine at one point, but nothing to help him pinpoint where he is or what's going on. What the plan here is.

But now Dodger's walking towards him, gun at his belt and a knife in his hands. Through the open door Michael can see two other sullen-faced guards, guns at the ready. They don't look happy to see him. Dodger doesn't look overjoyed, either - but his previous annoyance has faded now he's had time to cool off.

Michael's hasn't. He still doesn't know what the fuck's happened to Ryan, but he doesn't want to ask. If he did manage to escape, better that they don't know he's coming.

"What's going on?" he grunts, as Dodger comes and crouches next to him, knife in hand. He's not scared, just wary.

"We're letting you out."

"I find that fucking hard to believe," Michael snaps, and Dodger puts a hand on his shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear as his other hand goes to cut the ropes tying him to the pipe. It takes Michael a second to realise he's being deliberately discreet. Like he doesn't want the guards to hear.

"I've managed to convince the others, for now, that you're better to us alive than dead," he mutters. "But they want proof that you really used to be one of us. If you want to stay alive, play the fuck along, you hear me? Trust me - even if you don't trust them."

"I don't trust you," Michael spits, and Dodger sits back a bit and stares at him. There's genuine hurt in his face, and for a second Michael actually, legitimately feels bad. They were close once, as close as he is with the rest of the Fakes. There was a time he'd've fucked up anyone who hurt his brother.

"Michael," Dodger whispers intently, "These people want you dead. For the love of God let me help you. That's what I'm trying to do here."

"You're helping me because you want me to come back," Michael hisses. "That's not fucking happening."

There's a long, tense pause, and for a moment he thinks Dodger will spit at him. But to his surprise, the other man just laughs.

"You always were stubborn as hell," he says, shaking his head. "That's the Michael I know. You might not trust me, but I trust you. I trust that you'll get there in the end, you'll come back to us. I know it."

Michael doesn't like the sound of that. He wants to argue, to yell, to hit him in his fucking face.

And hell, before he joined the crew he might even have done it; have risked his life just on principle. Sacrificed himself rather than give in. Stand up for his morals or what the fuck ever.

But he has to survive. It would break Ryan to lose him - for him, he'll keep his mouth shut, so he says nothing and sits silently as Dodger leans in to cut the ropes.

"No sudden moves," he orders, and takes Michael's arm, pulling him to his feet. The two guards at the door straighten up, their guns swinging to point at him, and Michael swallows hard and takes a deep breath.

_Just hold on. You got this. The others will break you out of here soon, you know they will. Just play along until then._

Dodger keeps a tight grip on his arm, the other two guards keeping their guns trained on him as they walk out of the room. It's some sort of cellar, a flight of stone steps leading up into what looks like some sort of old farmhouse. A backup base of some sort - certainly not a very defensible one, because they emerge into a courtyard and Michael realises they're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Fields stretch as far as the eye can see and aside from their cars and the scattered farm buildings - mostly fallen into disrepair by now - there are no walls, no fences. Just a bit of shrubbery and a forest on one side.

He doesn’t think they’re very far from where the hit took place. If the Lost had many injured they wouldn’t have wanted to move them.

"Where are we?" he asks, but Dodger shakes his head.

"Can't tell you that. Keep moving."

He pushes Michael towards a barn on the other end of the drive - a looming, dark building. A few of the Lost are standing around, eying them suspiciously - they start walking with them as they keep moving, and an uneasy feeling begins to build in the pit of Michael's stomach.

"What's going on?" he tries, but Dodger just squeezes his arm and leads him into the barn.

The place stinks of dust and mouldy hay. It's clearly not been used in a long time, and part of the roof has rotted away, leaving a gaping hole through which a stream of sunlight shines like a spotlight, illuminating a circle in the middle of the barn floor. In the shadowy fringes he can see about a dozen more of the Lost, sitting around, indistinct figures in the darkness. For a moment, staring at their painted faces, he feels a faint pang.

_That was you once. Part of the pack._

There are three figures kneeling in the centre of the sunlight, all of them on their knees with their hands bound behind their backs, sacks tied over their heads. The sight of them makes something sick rise in Michael's throat. Dodger leans in and whispers in his ear, the feel of his breath over Michael's skin making him shiver.

"That's where you'd be right now if I hadn't intervened."

"You expecting a thank you?" Michael grunts.

"I mean, it'd be nice. I saved your damn life. Didn't have to, after you tried killing me like three fucking times." He pulls Michael towards the side of the group, and Michael looks around, trying to figure out if there's any way he could possibly escape. There are more doors at the back of the barn, and a ladder leading up to the loft. He could get out the hole in the roof from there.

But there are too many of them around, all of them armed with guns and knives. They'd shoot him in an instant if he tried to run. It's not worth the risk.

"Dodger."

There are two people rising now. They were sitting on a stack of crates at the head of the group, and as they move towards them, two of the guards slam the barn doors shut and the low murmuring of the rest of the Lost ceases, leaving them in silence. Whatever the hell's going on here, it's about to begin.

There's a man and a woman walking towards them. The woman's about Dodger's age, with ashy blonde hair cropped short and a heavily scarred face. The man's a few years younger, in his early twenties perhaps, with pinched, unpleasant features and pale cold eyes. Michael doesn't recognise either of them from his own time in the crew.

"Slightly," Dodger greets, nodding at the man. "Prentiss. He's decided to cooperate."

_He fucking has not,_ Michael thinks, but has enough self-restraint not to say it out loud. He folds his arms and glares at the two of them as their calculating eyes turn to him. He can tell instantly that they despise him; there's a simmering anger in both their faces. He doesn't blame them. He'd hate him, too, given how he's attacked their crew so far.

"As long as he's alive," Prentiss spits, "His people will be looking for him."

"They won't find us here," Dodger points out, "They have no reason to head East. We're fine. The others are already going to get the tank and bring it back here. It won't be long."

They glance at each other, but nod. Slightly walks up to Michael then. He's a tall, scrawny sort of man, and he stares down at Michael, eying him with distaste, before he draws a hand back and slaps him hard across the face.

"Fuck," Michael hisses, stumbling sideways. For a skinny guy, he hit damn hard, and his cheek is burning. He straightens up, glaring, to find that Dodger's gotten up in Slightly's face, shoulders tense.

"What the hell was that for?" he demands. Michael's surprised he's so quick to defend him.

Slightly tilts his head, looking coldly between the two of them.

"Don't you realise how many of our people he killed?”

"Our gang came up against his. He didn't know it was us. It happens, here," Dodger says tightly, but Slightly puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back a step.

"He didn't stop even once he realised you were here. You're not thinking straight, Benjie. If you were you'd realise there's no fucking way we can ever trust him. He's loyal to Ramsey and that's not gonna change. Better to kill him right now and be done with it."

"You don't know him like I do. He's my brother, he was one of Kant's favourites, our best-"

"Kant's not here anymore," Prentiss cuts in quietly, and moves forward, taking Dodger's arm and leaning in. "You're our brother, Ben. We don't want you to get hurt. You're too close to this."

Michael stands, watching them. There's an odd ache in his chest. It's been too easy so far to try and just take out the group on the basis of the fact that they're evil, that they can't be saved, won't be stopped. He'd forgotten just how loyal they are to each other. It makes it harder now to justify the ruthless killing when he has them here in front him and can see the love they have for each other, can see how they're a family. Just lost kids clinging to each other, staying strong when they have no one else. Kant fucked them all up, not just him. Not everything here is their fault.

_Don't get soft,_ he scolds himself. _They'll kill you and anyone else without a second damn thought. Just because Dodger's back, just because he's still acting like he used to, doesn't mean you should trust him, or like him-_

_Or save him. Because when it comes down to it, you're gonna have to take him out eventually._

It's an ugly thought, and suddenly he doesn't like to dwell on it. He can already anticipate the betrayal in the other man's eyes, the hurt, how it will make Michael feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world all over again.

Especially because Dodger's still shaking his head, and when he glances back at Michael, his eyes shine with confidence.

"You'll see," he insists.

They don't look impressed, but they both turn away and climb back to the top of the stack of crates. Dodger turns to Michael and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak two of the guards walk up and grab his arms, dragging him into the circle of sunlight.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Michael snaps. He struggles, but can't stop himself from being propelled up towards the prisoners and forced to his knees at the end of the row.

"Don't move," one of the guards orders, and Michael clenches his teeth. He stays put, overly conscious of the guns trained on him, but his heart is pounding and _this is bad._ If the Lost do things the same way they have since he was with them, whatever happens here is gonna be a show - and not a pretty one. He looks up and sees Dodger at the front of the crowd; the other man gazes steadily at him and nods, and Michael's marginally reassured.

Whoever's next to him is shaking so hard that Michael can practically feel it, breathing heavily and whimpering under the bag tied over his head. The fear is contagious and as much as he tries to keep a scowl fixed to his face, to glare around at the group as they close in, inside he feels sick and scared.

"We've suffered great losses over the last few days," Prentiss announces, the group falling silent to listen to her as she walks into the middle of the barn to address them. "Even today five more of us fell, and four are in a critical condition. Victor's treating their wounds but we aren't hopeful. But we still believe we can take this city. We'll show the Fakes and Gemini that the Lost are to be feared."

A wild cheer springs up, and Prentiss steps forward and whisks the bag off the head of the closest person. Michael leans forward to see; it's one of Gemini's men, he recognises him from the few other meetings they've had with Gavin before. He follows Clayton around like a bodyguard. The prisoner next to him gets the same treatment - another one Michael vaguely recognises.

"Two of Gemini's mercs," Prentiss announces. "We caught them back near our base this morning checking out the lake. Probably heard the Fakes tried to rob all those drugs from us and dumped them in there."

_They still don't know we're working together_ , Michael realises. That's one advantage, at least, and he tries to keep a straight face.

"The Hart twins think they own this city, but they have barely any territory and with our tank we can occupy their area easily," Prentiss continues. "Let's send them one final message to back off. No matter our losses, tomorrow we strike East AC."

Another chorus of cheers. Prentiss steps back and beckons two of the Lost who are standing close by. They approach, a little tentatively, and Michael realises how young they are. Not as small as the children back when the Lost was in Jersey, no; everyone here is at least a teenager. But they must only be about sixteen, seventeen - definitely some of the youngest people here, gangly and awkward, with round cheeks and bad skin. Kids who shouldn't be anywhere near this shit.

Prentiss presses a knife into the hand of the boy, and Michael realises what's going on here. Some sort of initiation. She inclines her head towards the first prisoner, and Michael braces himself. He might hate Gemini, but he doesn't want to look.

A hard sneer on his face, the boy steps forward. The prisoner is bound and gagged, but Michael can hear his muffled noises of anger as he struggles against his ropes. He turns his face away just before he sees the flash of the blade in his peripheral, before the first strangled scream and cheers from the gathered Lost. Again and again, the impact of knife against flesh - endless cries that gargle together, blood spreading across the hay and dirt strewn across the floor. It pools towards the rest of the line of prisoners, seeping into the knees of their jeans, horribly warm. Michael feels sick, even if he's forcing himself to look away.

_Just like before, isn't it?_

_Once this excited you. You'd've been right there in the crowds cheering them on. How fucked up is that? Is that something you can get over? Or even now is some part of you enjoying this? They are Gemini, after all. These men work for Clayton. They probably helped him hurt Gavin. Don't they deserve to die? Don't they deserve pain? He's cutting his eyes out. You want to do the same to Clayton. What's the fucking difference?_

He shifts and his knees nearly stick to the ground. There's so much blood; everywhere he looks is red. He's breathing too fast, and it's a struggle to hide it.

He thinks of Ryan to calm himself down, closing his eyes and imagining the other man slipping from the crowds like a shadow, coming to stand next to him, placing his hands firmly on Michael's shoulders to steady him.

_It's not your fault,_ he imagines the other man saying, in that calm, certain tone that always makes it seem like he has all the answers in the world. _You were raised in this. You didn't choose that. You realise this is wrong and that's what makes you different to them._

_You're not a monster. And you're not enjoying this, don't fucking kid yourself. Be strong now. I'm coming. We're both coming._

He takes a deep breath and feels himself calm down a little. When he looks up again the boy is stepping away from the crumpled body. Even from here Michael can see how the corpse's face is fucked up, a mess of blood and gaping wounds until he's barely recognisable any more. The boy staggers backwards, breathing heavily. He's coated in blood from his chin to his navel, his fingertips up to his elbows. For a moment Michael remembers how that feels, how it goes sticky as it dries, how it gets stuck up under your fingernails and no amount of scrubbing can ever quite get rid of the smell, not really.

"Good man," Prentiss says - comes up and puts her hand on his back, leading him away. She's smiling proudly and after a moment the kid grins, too. His crooked white teeth look ghastly, standing out amongst all the red. She nods at the girl, who's hanging back. "Your turn."

The other merc from Gemini is breathing heavily now, his eyes wide and white like a feral animal's as he glances from the body of his friend to the gang around them. The man beside Michael can't see what's going on, but he must have heard, must be able to feel the blood drying under them. He's whimpering loudly now, and Michael clenches his jaw. It's getting harder and harder to stay still, to not recoil.

"I got it," the girl says, taking the knife and stepping forward. God, she's so young - she reminds Michael suddenly of Mica, back when she first joined the crew. It was a while before Geoff would let her out in the field. He'd certainly never have asked her to do anything like this, even if she was a few years older than this girl. She stalks towards the man-

Only for him to leap up and charge towards her, so quickly that no one has a chance to react. He ducks and rams into her with his shoulder, sending her flying sideways before making a break for the door.

Michael straightens up, shocked - the Lost close in around him and he kicks a few of them away, but there are just too many. He would never have gotten through the crowds. He's seized and thrown to the ground again, the group descending on him with kicks and punches. With his hands tied behind his back, he's helpless under the onslaught.

"Hey!" the girl yells, her voice cutting through the din. "I got this."

The crowd parts, and Michael leans forward to see she's snatched up a shovel that was leaning against the wall. Her eyes are dark and dangerous as she strides forward and stands over the man, who's struggling to get up again. A fierce glint in her eyes, she swings it and strikes him across the face.

The man lets out a muffled yell. The blade of the shovel sliced a gash across his cheek, and blood sprays across the room. Without hesitation, she swings it again - and again, a series of awful, fleshy thuds. The cries turn choked and faint, then cease entirely-

And it's all nearly too much. The smell, the sight, the sounds, they surround Michael with blood until he feels like he's drowning in it. They've done worse, that's the worst part. Against some of the shit in his memories, this is child's play.

A hand on his shoulder startles him; he jumps and looks up to see Dodger's slipped through the crowds towards him. He doesn't look quite as wild as the others, but his eyes are still shining with something a bit too uncomfortably close to glee.

"Do you remember now?" he whispers, leaning in close to Michael. "Anyone who crossed us used to get what they deserved. They all had it coming. We were _powerful_ , Michael, after too long of nobody caring, of people thinking they could just push us around like we were _nothing_. We were going to rule the damn world. We'd have everything we wanted. For once we'd _matter."_

"I matter," Michael hisses back. "And you do, too, but not because of this. Not because of hurting people. If you just _see_ Geoff, if you just meet him, if you see our crew, you'd understand. Dodger-"

He wants to ask him to come back with him, to leave these people behind, to take the chance Michael tried to give him a long time ago. But before he has a chance to, the crowds are turning towards them. The man on the ground is beaten to a pulp and the floor is stained red now. The girl lifts her chin defiantly, the shovel dripping blood, and Prentiss reaches out and takes it from her.

"Good work," she says. Her hand trails over the girl's shoulder and she gives her a small smile before ushering her to join the rest of the Lost. The silence that follows is uncomfortably tense and Michael can feel all their calculating eyes on him, can sense the simmering anger in the room.

It's clear that none of them want him to be here, and they'd all much rather he was dead right now.

Slightly stalks over to the rest of the group, his eyes hard. He snatches the shovel and walks towards Michael and the other man.

"Get up," he orders.

Michael gets to his feet, warily, Dodger's hand slipping from his shoulder as he rises. Slightly jerks his head at the kneeling man.

"Take his hood off."

Michael hesitates for a second. Whatever's going on here, he wants no part in it - but he sees how Slightly's face darkens, and reaches out to pull the sack off. The man gasps for breath, squinting in the sunlight. He looks up and Michael freezes as he recognises him.

It's a cop - one of the sellouts who the Fake AH Crew uses when they need the force to turn a blind eye. They haven't spoken to him in a while. His eyes widen as he recognises Michael, too, and he starts whimpering and pleading behind the gag, indistinguishable garbled noises.

"You two clearly already know each other," Slightly says flatly, and tilts his head as he stares between them. "This asshole shot one of our people pulling a heist three weeks ago. We need to show the pigs in this city that it's better not to mess with us."

Michael turns to Dodger, uncertain. The other man's eyes are fixed on him intently.

"He has a family," Michael says, quietly. Dodger's face doesn't so much as twitch.

Slightly doesn't seem impressed. He grabs Michael's arm and drags him towards the centre of the ring, where everyone can see him, and presses the shovel into his hands.

"Dodger claims you're one of us - or used to be. Claims you know how to get shit done. Claims that once you cross this line you won't go back and we'll be able to trust you. Likely fucking story, but he's my brother, so I'll give you a shot. Just one." He nods towards the bound cop and gives an ugly leer. "Kill him."

Michael's stomach sinks. He stares at the terrified cop - his wide, pleading eyes - at the eager faces of the Lost around them, thirsty for blood. Part of him is scared of just how easy he keeps thinking it would be to give in. _Just one life. You know he's corrupt. Who cares if he's worked with you before? You can buy some time for Ryan to get to you._

_You can fucking survive._

God, it would be so simple. But part of him - the part that was brave enough to run away from the only family he'd ever known at eighteen years old - keeps thinking, _no. This isn't right. I'm not that person anymore-_

_And I refuse to let them turn me into it again._

"The Lost used to value loyalty," he says instead, voice low. "This man might have hurt you, but he hasn't done anything to me. He worked with us. He has a family. I won't kill him on a whim."

Slightly's grin doesn't falter. He just turns to Dodger instead.

"You see?" he says, almost proudly. "He doesn't even want to be here. You're wasting your time."

"He'll get there," Dodger insists. "He just needs some motivation. Trust me, he's worth the effort."

Michael scowls, unsure where the hell this is going, but not liking the way they're talking about him - but Slightly just shrugs. He walks over to the cop instead and leans over, pulling the gag from his mouth. There's a murmur from the crowd, and Michael stiffens, uneasy.

"-please," the cop babbles, the second he's free. "Please, please-"

"Shut up," Slightly snaps, and reaches for the ropes tying his hands together. "This is your only fucking chance to get out of this alive. Kill him for us. If you decide to work for the Lost, we won't tell Ramsey you're the one who did it. Take it or leave it."

He tosses the shovel at the cop's feet as the ropes fall free, and steps back to rejoin the crowd.

Michael's heart is racing. He can hear the crowd's mutters, muffled slightly through the blood roaring in his ears. He meets the cop's eyes and for a perfect moment they understand each other; he can see the man's fear, his desperation, and knows exactly what he's going to do. A second later the cop snatches up the shovel, stands, and charges at Michael with a roar.

"God damn it!" Michael cries. He steps backwards, trying to circle the man - but he's fast, and swinging the metal shovel wildly. It catches Michael's arm across the backswing and he stumbles sideways, pain exploding in his shoulder. It hurts so badly that tears sting at his eyes.

The crowd roars, and Michael's reminded of old gladiator fights at the coliseum - he straightens up and barely ducks another swing from the shovel. It whistles so close over his head that he feels the wind in his hair, and the cop lunges at him with a feral snarling sound. He's ready to kill, Michael can see it in his face, in his panic-

_And you're not fucking ready to die, not here, not now, not when Ryan needs you-_

_Not when_ Gavin _needs you-_

He ducks another swing, stumbling backwards and looking frantically around for a weapon. But the shovel catches him again as he retreats, across the abdomen. He feels the blade cut through his shirt, his skin - a shallow gash over his ribs, but his shirt's soaked with blood almost instantly and he stumbles to his knees. The flat of the shovel descends on his side and he falls sideways, curling in on himself automatically.

"Kill him! Kill him!" they're chanting, all leaning forward eagerly. The shovel rises, and for a moment all Michael can see are the whites of the man's eyes as he looms over him, the flash of his teeth. He can't draw a proper breath in; his side hurts too much-

But he manages to roll back, out of the way. The shovel comes down with so much force that the blade sticks into the hard-packed dirt floor, and his heart skips a beat. That could've cut his fucking head clean off.

"Michael!"

It takes him a second to pick Dodger's voice out of the crowd; he looks up and sees him pointing frantically at a gap in the crowd nearby. For a moment Michael thinks he's mad, remembers what happened to the last guy who tried to escape - but then he sees it. There's a pitchfork leaning against the wall, and he takes a deep breath.

_You can't die here._

He runs for it. For a moment the crowd surges to stop him - then they realise what he's going for, and part to let him through.

His heart's pounding as he grabs the pitchfork and turns back to the cop. He sees the man falter, hesitating - sees the fear in his eyes - and for a moment, again, his hatred of these people flares up hot and angry. Neither of them want to be here, to fight, to kill, but yet again he's being forced, yet again they're trying to twist him into something he's not-

But what can he do?

He steps forward, on the offensive now even if he's limping, even if it hurts to move one arm and he's dripping blood with every step he takes. When he reaches up to brush his hair from his face he feels the smear of warm blood it leaves behind, and for a second he's quite certain he looks just like the rest of the Lost around him.

The cop charges him again with a fierce yell, and Michael braces himself and swings the pitchfork right back. He blocks the shovel with a ringing clash of metal. Fresh pain bursts through his injured shoulder, and he hollers - but the cop's already swinging again, and again, and Michael staggers backwards, struggling to parry each one. His grip on the handle of the pitchfork is slippery with blood, and splinters are digging into his hands, and for a moment he thinks maybe he's underestimated this situation, maybe he's fucked this right up and this is it, he's gonna get beaten to death in some stinking fucking barn-

Then the cop jabs at him again, and as he blocks the swipe the shovel's blade gets caught in the prongs of the pitchfork, and he sees his chance.

Twisting the fork in his grip, he jerks the shovel out of the man's hands and it's pulled to the ground. The cop looks surprised - then alarmed as Michael shakes the pitchfork free and steps over the shovel, advancing towards him. Weaponless, he's the one to stumble backwards now as Michael swipes at him.

The pronged blade catches him across the gut, the arm, the face. Each one leaves a neat row of gashes, like claws, and sends him sprawling to the ground. Something in Michael's riled up now, something angry and scared, desperate for survival. Something that just wants to get the hell out of here. His wounds are throbbing and-

_This man did it to you._

_You were loyal to him, and he repaid you like this?_

_Doesn't he deserve it?_

He straddles the man's body, his vision red and everything burning. For a moment adrenaline floods away the pain of his various accumulated injuries. He feels nothing but strong, nothing but _powerful-_

"Michael! Do it!" Dodger's yelling behind him.

"Finish it! Finish it!" the Lost chant.

The man's scrabbling under him, trying to get to his feet. One arm stretches out and Michael notices that the knife that the girl dropped earlier is still lying on the ground, just out of arm's reach. He stabs the pitchfork down, through the man's shoulder, and he gives a piercing, high shriek that echoes through the barn and makes Michael's teeth tingle and his hair stand on end. When he yanks the blade out a spray of blood spatters over him, onto his face and his shirt, over his lips. He can taste it, hot and coppery and too familiar.

"Finish him!" Prentiss and Slightly hiss - they're leaning forward eagerly, watching from their throne of crates, eyes blazing.

Michael's breathing heavily. He raises the pitchfork and stares down at the man, who's got one hand up helplessly. His eyes are wide and he's sweating and bleeding just like Michael is; looks small and broken down there.

"Please," he begs, his voice a broken little whisper. "Michael, you know me, please- I've helped Geoff, I have a family - please, please-"

_Geoff._

The man's name breaks through the cloud in his mind. Suddenly it's all he can think about - a warm hand, a contagious laugh, the way Geoff looked at him in those first few days when he was about to join the crew. Not like a tool to be used, but like a friend. And those long nights they'd spent together, drinking, exploring the city, talking as Geoff relayed dream after dream. Michael had thought he was an idiot at first.

_You can't stay in power like that_ , he remembers scoffing.

Oh, but he had - and what would Geoff say, if he was standing in the crowds now, too? Michael can just imagine him, staring at him in disappointment, something soft and sad to his face. And what would Ryan say, standing there beside him? There would be no judgment in his face, there never is - but Michael can practically hear his voice again, can practically see him walking forward to gently take the pitchfork from his hands.

"This isn't you. You know it isn't. I know it isn't. Just stop, Michael - you know you don't need to prove yourself to anyone anymore. You know this isn't _us."_

And Gavin.

Suddenly he's there, too, but not standing with the others. No - he's off in the corner, staring at Michael in horror. His eyes huge with fear, one hand up to ward him off, just like he was that evening in the bathroom.

_He was so fucking scared of you. Scared you were a monster, scared you'd hurt him next. God, you could barely even look at yourself that night._

_If he saw you now, he'd be fucking terrified._

"Please," he hears someone whisper, and for a moment he thinks it's Gavin - then he realises it's the man under him, one hand up trying to fend him away, and the chants and jeers of the crowd swim back into his ears. He remembers where he is, and feels sick.

_You're not a child anymore. No one can control you._

He throws the pitchfork down and straightens up, taking a step back. The Lost fall silent in an instant; an eerie hush that falls over the entire barn.

"I took him down," Michael yells. His voice echoes through the space, and he can smell the blood like it's everywhere, inside him and out. "I did what you wanted. But I'm not gonna fucking kill him."

He turns towards all the rest of them, and can see the anger in their pinched faces - the horror and disappointment in Dodger's. But all he feels is more simmering hate, and he strides forward and spits a huge, bloody gob in the direction of Prentiss and Slightly.

"Do your own dirty work," he snaps. "You don't get kids to do it. You don't get _me_ to do it. You can't see it, but Kant fucked all of us up. This isn't who we're meant to be. I managed to get out - any of you can, too. Until you do, I just feel sorry for you."

There's a long, tense silence, and for a moment he's quite certain that they're going to kill him. For a moment he's scared, but a bigger part of him doesn't care. Better to be a martyr than a monster. But then Prentiss rises, and steps towards him. There's something unsettling about her scarred face; all Michael can wonder is how old she might've been when it happened. They look so healed that she must've been young. Maybe only the age of that other girl.

"Very noble," she says, mockingly. She bends and picks the knife up from the ground, stepping towards him. Michael holds his ground. "You think you can save him?"

"No," Michael snaps. "I think he's dead either way, but I'm not going to do it."

"Isn't that just the Fake AH Crew's way. So admirable. So _kind."_ There's a sharp edge to her voice as she turns to the man on the ground - he's curled in on himself, whimpering, and she stares impassively down at him, tilting her head. "I'm sure that's why Ramsey keeps a tight grip on nearly the entire city. Because he's just such a nice guy."

Michael doesn't rise to the bait. He just watches as she picks up the pitchfork then, and without another word stabs it down through the cop's throat. There's a long quiet broken only by his choking, gargling noises, blood bubbling from his lips and spilling across the floor, his limbs thrashing helplessly before falling still. 

There's a resounding silence. Michael feels oddly numb, his eyes trained on the body lying still on the floor as Prentiss turns and walks over to him.

"Dodger told us all about you when we realised who we were up against," she says, tightly. "Said out of everyone back in Kant's original crew, you were the one who was most willing to get shit done. To do the hard things you needed to, to earn people's respect. To get to the top. To prove the crew's worth to everyone else in the city. He said you were brave and strong and someone he was proud to stand beside, to put his life on the line for. That's not what I see here. All I see is someone weak. A coward."

"I learned what being brave really was when I left," Michael spits back. "I'm learning it every fucking second I stay here. The real cowards are the ones who pick on people who can't fight back, who don't deserve it." He pauses, looks around - his eyes fall on the two youngest, the two still covered in blood from their kills. "I hope one day some of you here can learn that before it's too late."

Her face clouds over. She raises the knife and steps towards him, and for a moment Michael can't breathe-

But Dodger steps between them. He looks furious, but his voice is oddly calm as he grabs Prentiss' wrist.

"Let me deal with this," he says, tightly.

"Dodge." She sounds pained. "You stuck up for him. You did your duty to your brother. He's not gonna change, he doesn't want to. This is a fool's errand-"

"It's been years. He can't change overnight." He leans in, and only Michael's close enough to hear his whisper. "He was close. I could see it. Let me deal with this. If you trust me..."

They stare into each other's eyes for a long, tense moment. Then Prentiss steps back and Dodger turns and grabs Michael's arm.

"Come on," he snaps, and Michael knows he's pissed at him.

"What-"

"Come _on._ " He yanks Michael towards the door. The Lost part and let them through, but Michael can see them muttering and glancing at each other, can sense their doubt. Dodger drags him out and back towards the cellar door. For a few moments they're out in the open and the other man's grip on his arm is the only thing keeping him restrained; there are no guards around. He could run. But there are just open fields around them and he knows he wouldn't get far.

_Holy shit. I can't believe I'm still alive._

It's only now that he's out of the barn that he really, properly registers exactly how many ways things could have gone horribly wrong back there. And if it wasn't for Dodger, he would have been dead hours ago.

Despite how much he still resents the other man, some small part of himself is grateful. Some small part is warmed by the fact that his brother still loves him enough to try and protect him.

But Dodger's definitely not happy about the way things went back there. He drags Michael down the stairs to the basement, flings open the door, and shoves him in. Michael stumbles towards the back of the room, and when he straightens up it's to find Dodger holding his gun. He freezes - but the other man doesn't raise it. It's clearly just a warning not to try anything.

"What the hell," Dodger hisses, "Do you think you were doing back there? I thought you were fucking smarter than that!"

"I told you," Michael snaps, "I don't do this shit anymore. I'm not that person, Dodge, I'm not Hook. He's dead and gone. Just like Kant."

"I don't fucking care, that was your chance to prove to them you're not a threat! I'm trying to help you here Michael, can't you fucking see that? And he wasn't innocent," he adds, furiously, "He's a criminal like the rest of us, he's corrupt, and now he's dead anyway! Is his life worth yours? _Is it?"_

Michael glares at him, but he can't help a worming guilt because some part of him is relieved the policeman is dead and he isn't. Some part of him is very, very glad. Some part of him is thinking _no, it sure as hell isn't. Not to Ryan or Gavin or Geoff. Not to me._

"You didn't do that to be good, to do the right damn thing," Dodger sneers, and shakes his head in disgust. "You did it to spite me and Kant and all the rest of us. Well, good going. They'll never trust you now."

"So they'll kill me," Michael snaps, trying not to think about the rest of the words, about how damn true they are. "So that's it, then."

"Probably. I've done as much as I can. Unless you change your attitude, and soon..."

He trails off. His anger seems to be fizzling away. He looks upset now, more than anything else.

For a moment Michael can't stand to see it. Both of them are so much older now, and they lost the innocence of youth a long, long time ago. But for a second, the look on Dodger's face makes him think of long nights lying next to one another, awake, sharing secrets and telling stories. Of gentle hands painting each other's faces, of walking into danger and knowing someone else has his back. For a second - he almost misses him.

Dodger sighs, and turns away.

"Sit here and fucking think about it," he mutters. "Maybe some time alone will change your damn mind. Maybe you're hoping Ramsey will come for you. Or maybe Prentiss and Slightly will get to you first. I don't know anymore."

He turns towards the door. Michael's wounds throb, and he wants to sit down. He's still covered in blood and aching. But he can't move, and when Dodger reaches for the door handle he calls out after him, the words bursting from his throat before he can even really think about them.

"Dodge!"

Dodger pauses. He doesn't look back. Michael swallows a few times - he can still taste blood.

"Thank you," he says. The words feel thick and awkward on his tongue, but somehow they feel right. Despite everything - he owes his life to the other man, to some lingering sense of loyalty he must have. 

Dodger doesn't answer. He stands for a moment, and Michael can see him breathing heavily - then he sweeps out the door, locking and bolting it behind him.

The adrenaline rushes away, and Michael sits down heavily. Everything hurts - he can barely move his arm, and his shirt's soaked with blood, and there's a full-body ache that makes him think it'll be hard to get back up. He realises he's shaking, and scoots back to press against the wall, drawing his knees up and curling into a ball.

_You're fine. You're fine._

_You're still alive, aren't you? And you didn't give in._

But he's scared how for a moment, he wanted to - he's scared to think of what might happen next, of how far Dodger's protection might extend, of what he'll do if they come back in.

_The others are coming,_ he tells himself. _They'll know by now. Ryan's got to be okay - and Gavin was there - they'll come, and soon._

_You just have to hold on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was split in two so the next update will be in a couple of days <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Gore/graphic violence (not inflicted on a main character).

**xxi. vagabond**

_The Vagabond is born out of desperation, as Ryan flees across the country, chased by her ghost. He gathers rumours and reputation around him like armour, starts wearing the mask like if only he can't recognise himself maybe she'll leave him alone too._

_He kills, and kills again, takes the bloodiest jobs he can find against the worst people around, and with each flash of his blade, each deafening gunshot, he imagines he's crushing the same men who killed her-_

_(They've vanished; he's searched for them but it's all dead ends and before long he can't stand to stay in the same city anyway-)_

_And when he goes home bruised and bleeding each night to an empty apartment or motel room he wonders how much will be enough for him to finally feel something again. The numbness is the worst part, how each kill stops affecting him, how no matter how awful it gets nothing can hurt him as much as that one moment days-weeks-months ago, nothing can shock him as much as what it was like to see her crumple and fall-_

_And every morning he still wakes up and expects to see her next to him. Every evening he walks in the door and expects to hear her call out. Every night he dreams she's still alive and wakes up confused. Maybe one day he can wash it away, somehow forget, but for now all he can do is stay on the move and wait to find that one new city, that one job that finally helps him to forget, finally lets him move on and have something to live for._

_By the time he reaches Achievement City, he's determined never to get close to anyone again._

"Are you scared?" Ryan asks.

He asks because he can see Gavin shaking. They're sitting in the Kuruma, a little way out from the farm. They can't drive any closer; bush and forest get in the way, but from here they have a good vantage point. The Lost wander around between the buildings. Before Ryan saw them dragging three bloodied sacks - the size of humans - out of a barn, and his heart nearly stopped, but Gavin touched his arm and shook his head and pointed out how the bags were too large to be Michael.

They should've called Geoff and the others in, probably. But there was no time to waste organising them all - Ryan let him know what was happening, but refused to wait for them to come before setting out.

Now here they are.

Gavin glances over at him. They haven't talked much since leaving the house, except for scoping out the area and making a plan. After a moment, he nods.

"Yeah," he admits, and looks down. "I shouldn't be. Broken into worse places than this. But these guys... the pictures of what they did to people..."

"Hey. It's fine. I'd be scared, too. I _am_ scared," Ryan says. He reaches out and puts a hand on Gavin's arm; the other man stiffens for a second, then relaxes, leaning into his touch. 

"You're scared for Michael. Not for yourself. It's different. That sort of fear motivates you. My sort of fear wants me to just sit here and not move." Gavin curls in on himself a little, then takes a deep breath. "But, you know, I'm scared for him too. I won't bail out on this."

"I'm not just scared for Michael. I'm scared for you too."

He doesn't mean to admit it. It just sort of - slips out, in these final few moments that feel like a precipice, like things will either be fine or go horribly, horribly wrong. A delirium that comes with the barely suppressed panic of not knowing if he's about to lose everything, all over again. And it's true. It's not just Michael. He's terrified that something will happen to Gavin as well. Not just because he likes the other man-

But because if he loses him now, he has the sudden feeling that it will be like losing their chance at.... _something_ , like it'll all be finished before it's even begun - before _what's_ begun, that part he can't quite admit yet, but he can feel it inside, a desperation to keep him safe that's nearly as strong as his need to get Michael back.

But they have to work together, here. They have to stay safe.

Gavin's staring at him - a little shocked, a little wary. But then he gives a small smile, and glances down, and he looks so surprised and pleased that something unbearably fond rises up in Ryan's chest.

"Thanks," he says, softly. "I'll be fine. I'll slip in there and figure out where they're keeping him. When I let you know, you take out the guards as quietly as possible. I'll let Michael out, and together we take out the Lost from the inside. If he's too injured to move properly, then we'll get him out together and take them out when Geoff gets here."

"Got it," Ryan says.

Gavin reaches up and turns on his earpiece. He pauses for a moment and Ryan sees him gather himself, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, the nervousness seeming to seep out of him until his face is nothing but determined. He reaches for the car door-

But Ryan grabs his arm suddenly. His chest feels tight with the same fear that strikes him every time he and Michael part ways for a job, no matter how often it happens. _What if this is the last time we see each other? It can't be like Wendy all over again. You can't leave it all unsaid._

"Ryan?" Gavin prompts, looking concerned.

Ryan hesitates, unsure - then thinks _fuck it_ , and tugs him gently into another hug. Gavin makes a brief, surprised noise - but hugs him back, tightly.

"Stay safe," Ryan says, and feels the way Gavin's shoulders relax under his touch. When they pull apart, Gavin looks up at him with a smile that finally reaches his eyes, and for the first time there's no wariness in it. He doesn't seem to think this is a trick or trap anymore - must register that Ryan really does care. That this isn't some sort of ploy, but something genuine - something that he can bring himself to accept and enjoy without having to worry.

"You too," Gavin whispers, and looks for a moment like he wants to say something more - but he bites his lip and slips out of the car.

Ryan gets his rifle ready as he gets out the other side. He lifts it to his shoulder, peering through the scope. From here, he can get a shot at any of the Lost standing out in the open. He can see a couple of guards lingering about, but for the most part the Lost's numbers have been reduced to the point where most of them seem to be pretty busy. Aside from the barn, there are two other farm buildings, and Ryan knows Gavin spied a cellar door earlier. If Michael is a prisoner here, that's where he's likely being kept-

But Gavin will need to find a key first. That will be the tricky part. He can't start shooting until Gavin gets to Michael - they'll need the distraction then, but any earlier and the Lost will be on the alert and might notice the break-in.

Still. His worries ease a bit at how Gavin slips through the bush so silently that none of them notice him approaching. The second the guards turn around, he darts forward and crouches just behind one of the trucks. It seems painfully open, but he must be at an angle that they can't see them, and Gavin times his movement perfectly, darting from vehicle to vehicle until he gets to the doorway of one of the buildings with none of them any the wiser.

"Nice work," Ryan whispers.

"Thanks," Gavin's voice murmurs back. "I'm about to head through this window - can you see any guards approaching this building?"

Ryan turns his scope towards the farm building next to the barn. He looks in the windows as best he can, and catches one vague shadow.

"Looks like one person inside, in the room closest to the barn. No one else around."

"Okay. I'm heading in."

He watches as Gavin breaks the window open and slides it up before scampering up the wall and sliding nimbly in.

"This is a temporary base," Gavin whispers. "They've dumped some files here from the other compound, but this place must just be a backup. One moment - there's a laptop that's open here. It's got some maps on it, I'll just have a look at them quickly."

"I'll let you know if anyone's coming in."

He hears the rustling of papers and the typing of keys, then Gavin lets out a brief noise of triumph.

"Got the location of a few other bases. No sign of the key around here, though. It's probably on one of them, but it could be hard to pickpocket them. I might have to pick the lock."

"Keep looking. Who's in the next room?"

He hears the soft shuffle of Gavin's footsteps.

"A woman. Scarred face. She's on the phone." Sure enough, Ryan can hear a woman's voice rising and falling faintly in the background. There's a long pause as Gavin listens in; he must be able to make out the conversation, even if Ryan can't quite hear it over the earpiece.

"She's talking to another group of the Lost. Seems like some of them went to get the tank. She’s telling them how a few of the ones wounded in our hit have just died from their injuries. But most of them are still here. I'm going to go to the other building now."

"Be careful..." Ryan trails off with a frown. There's a new truck coming down another road, pulling into the farmhouse. "Gavin. Someone else has just arrived. They've brought a truck - I don't know who it might be."

"I'll stay out of sight," Gavin whispers. Ryan hears him rustling about, slipping through another window. He’s crossing the courtyard now, and with the truck blocking Ryan’s view, he can’t see where he’s going. He focuses instead on the vehicle. A man jumps out of the cab, and Ryan recognises him as the one who had the minigun - one who Michael pointed out to him earlier, when they were running over the names and faces of those left in the crew. He was already one of the older boys when Kant was still in charge, when Michael first joined - a rugged looking man with a big beard and a scarred face.

The woman who was on the phone earlier strides out to meet him, along with a few others. They open the back of the truck, and Ryan’s heart stops.

From this distance, he can’t hear anything - the barks or yaps or bays that must emerge - but he can see, perfectly clearly, the half-dozen dogs that leap out the back and mill around the feet of the Lost, who move to pat and scratch them. Mixed breeds and fierce looking things; they’re all big dogs, with shaggy fur and sharp teeth.

_Fuck, fuck, oh fuck-_

Gavin might easily be able to slip his way around under the noses of humans, who rely on sight and sound - but not animals. They’ll root him out in an instant, and Ryan’s blood runs cold.

“Gavin,” he hisses, “Where are you?”

“Halfway across the courtyard. About to make a break for the next building.”

The dogs are following the gang behind the truck now - directly towards the area where Gavin’s hiding.

“Get inside!” Ryan hisses. “They have dogs, get inside right now-“

It’s too late. Now he can hear the barks and growls, coming through Gavin’s earpiece - his hitch of breath, the surprised shouts of the Lost. 

“Fuck!” he hears Gavin hiss, and then a rustling commotion as he must try to run for it - only to break off with a thud as he hits the ground. There’s heavy, animal panting in his ear for a moment, filtering right through the earpiece to Ryan’s - then Gavin gives a sharp cry of pain, and Ryan’s stomach drops.

“What have we here?” a woman’s voice rings out. “Looks like another Gemini rat!”

“Damn it,” Ryan chokes out, his fists clenching. “God _damn it_ -“

“It’s that thief,” a man says, “The one that planned all those heists. Clayton must have sent him here to try to break out the men we captured.”

_What men?_ Ryan thinks, but the woman’s already laughing.

“He’ll get a nasty shock. Hey Clayton,” she adds - she’s seen the earpiece now, and yanked it from Gavin’s head. It sounds like she’s speaking directly into Ryan’s ear. “Your people are dead. We’re shipping the bodies over to your territory now. Your precious little Shadow’s about to join them, too.”

Ryan feels just about ready to burst. A moment later the earpiece crackles into silence, crushed under a careless boot heel, and for a moment - for a moment he can’t move. He sits, frozen, paralysed by a cold terror.

_Michael’s gone._

_Gavin’s gone._

_They’ll kill them both-_

But a flicker of movement catches his eye. He moves the rifle and sees Dodger, emerging from the other farmhouse building, the one where the cellar is. He looks tired and dejected, but he’s heading to check out the commotion. For some reason it’s the sight of him - that first man, the one Michael was so close to - that sends a surge through Ryan that jolts him into action.

_Michael’s still alive, he’s got to be. Be brave now. You’re not gonna let this happen again. You’re not losing anyone else._

He lowers his rifle and straps it across his back, reaching to grab his automatic pistol instead. Rises and tugs his mask down to cover his face, burning with a cold fury, and strides forward.

_Not this time. This time you fight_. _You get them back._

 

* * *

 

**xxii. blood brothers**

_Michael nearly dies at sixteen years old. A routine hit goes wrong and he takes a knife to the gut._

_He doesn’t remember much of the actual injury. What he does remember is waking up in the back of a bumping van, knowing they’re on the way home, home where someone will patch him up, and not being scared because Dodger’s there, cradling him, one hand pressed against the wound. Michael’s numb all over except for his stomach, which feels like it’s on fire, and he can’t really talk but Dodger must see the confusion in his eyes. He holds him closer, smooths his hair back. His hands are coated in blood to the wrist._

_“Shhh,” he soothes, and it’s the same voice he used to tell Michael stories after dark when he was ten years old and scared of this strange new place, “I gotcha. You’re gonna be fine, Mikey, you’re gonna be just fine.”_

_“Ben…”_

_“I killed the bastards who did this to you. We’re nearly home and you’ll get patched right up. Just stay still. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”_

_“‘m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, and his eyes are slipping shut again and he just manages to reach up and hold onto Dodger’s arm, fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him like a lifeline even as he feels himself lose consciousness-_

“-might be others out there. Hell, most of their fucking _crew_ might be there.”

“Search the whole God damn perimeter and take the dogs, too!”

Michael sits up a little. He can hear shouting outside, and a great commotion - dogs barking, engines revving. He’d slipped into something of a daze; everything hurts, and it’s cold down here in the cellar, and he feels hungry and dehydrated.

_What’s going on?_

He struggles to his feet and leans against the wall. Is it the others, come to rescue him? He has to be ready if it is.

Suddenly he hears the thunder of footsteps coming down the stairs out in the corridor. The bolts slide, the locks turn, and a surge of hope fills his chest as he turns, expecting it to be Ryan bursting in-

But when the door slams open, it’s Dodger again, and Michael’s heart sinks.

He’s dragging Gavin with him.

The other man’s nose is bleeding. His shoulder’s dark with blood too, seeping through to stain his jacket, and his hands are bound tightly in front of him. Dodger yanks him into the room by his collar and throws him down on the stone floor between them. The sight makes Michael’s blood boil, a fierce, protective urge rising up in his chest.

“Gemini’s here,” Dodger snaps. “You know him, yeah? Their thief?”

For a moment Michael’s so shocked he can barely speak.

“Of course I know him,” he manages to stammer out finally - but it’s strained, and it takes him a second to remember. _They don’t know you’re working together_. He looks down and Gavin, sprawled on the floor, manages to lift his head and meet his eyes. They’re wide and terrified, but Michael can see the relief in his face as he realises Michael’s okay.

It’s all coming together now, slowly-

_If Gavin’s here, Ryan’s probably here. I doubt he got himself captured deliberately. Something’s gone wrong-_

_But they’re here, they’re_ here _\- this is your chance to get out. Don’t blow it_.

“The Shadow,” Dodger spits, and kicks Gavin in the side. He yelps, curling in on himself, and Michael’s ire rises. He wants to lunge forward and punch Dodger in the face, hurl him away from Gavin - but he can’t move, has to just stand there, fists clenching at his sides. He’s taking note of things. The door’s wide open behind Dodger, and he has a knife and a gun at his belt but nothing more, and there are no guards in the corridor behind him.

“Why’d you bring him down here?” he asks, stepping closer.

“You blew things with the cop. But this is your chance.” Dodger draws his knife and Gavin flinches back; he tries to scramble to his knees but Dodger kicks him again and he skids back across the stone floor a little. The way his face twists in pain makes Michael want to hurl. Dodger turns to him and offers him the knife, hilt-first.

“Kill him,” he orders. “Make it bloody. You hate Gemini, they’re your mortal enemies. This shouldn’t be hard. Kill him and prove to the others you’re with us on this. Come on, Michael - _brother_ \- I know you’re in there. Join me and we’ll overthrow them together.”

If it had been Clayton lying there on the floor, Michael’s not sure what he would have done. But it’s not Clayton, it’s Gavin, and all Michael wants is to protect him.

He reaches out and takes the knife, and sees the wide smile that spreads across Dodger’s face, his eyes lighting up. For a moment he looks like a teenager again, just a boy like Michael was. For a moment Michael isn’t sure how the hell he got here, or what he’s doing, and feels like he’s being torn in all directions-

_It's Gavin. It's Gavin, you need to help him-_

_It's Dodger. He's your brother. Are you really going to do this?_

_You promised him-_

_He saved your life-_

_You owe him-_

_Whatever you do here, you can't go back._

_It's Gavin._

He steps forward, turning his back on Dodger, and walks towards Gavin, who's lying curled on the floor. Michael's breathing too fast, and he adjusts his grip on the knife. His hand's sticky with blood, and trembling.

"On your knees," he says gruffly, and reaches out, grabbing Gavin's arms and pulling him upright. Gavin sways a little, peering up at him, and Michael crouches over him. With his back to Dodger, the other man can't really see what they're doing, and Michael squeezes Gavin's shoulders, steadying him. Their eyes meet and Michael can see the uncertainty in Gavin's face - but it fades as Michael holds his gaze, eyes running up and down him, a silent question in it. _Are you okay?_

Gavin stares back at him, and leans into his touch. Michael swallows the lump in his throat. His heart's pounding, and he's breathing heavily. In the quiet room it sounds almost deafening. It feels like he's running out of time, and _you have to act now, you can't hesitate, this is it, you have to do it-_

_Make a choice._

"Michael? Go on, do it," Dodger says, behind him.

Michael squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath, and tightens his grip on the knife-

Then opens his eyes, and turns, and hurls it towards Dodger. Ryan taught him this - way back before they were even dating, when they were first growing closer. He remembers how patient the other man was, how Michael had felt so nervous when he got close and adjusted his grip on the knife. His strong warm hands. How strange it was to be touched by him, when Ryan usually went to pains to keep his distance.

He hadn't ever gotten very good at it, and he hasn't practiced in a while - but the basics come back to him now, and the knife hurtles towards Dodger and lodges in his side.

He lets out a yell of pain, stumbling backwards, one hand coming down to where the knife's stuck in his abdomen, low and a bit to the left. He stares up at Michael, a look of shocked hurt on his face, not quite registering what's happened-

Michael charges at him, but Dodger reacts quickly. He goes for his gun just as Michael slams into him, and they both fall back against the wall. Dodger grunts in pain as Michael's weight hits the knife, driving it deeper into him, and Michael grabs his wrist, forcing his arm to the side. The gun goes off - _bang!_ \- harmlessly into the ground next to them, but Dodger's pushing back against him and for a moment they grapple as Dodger tries to shake him off, to point the gun at him.

"Michael," he gasps, and Michael can hear the simmering anger in it, the betrayal, "Michael, you-"

He gets a leg around Michael's ankle and kicks sideways. Michael falls and lets out a cry as his injured shoulder slams straight into the ground. For a moment stars burst behind his eyes from the pain. Dodger stumbles, landing on top of him, and Michael reaches up and manages to grab the hilt of the knife. He wrenches it out of Dodger's side and the other man lets out a scream of pain that sends chills down Michael's spine. A rush of hot blood pours down over Michael, and he flinches-

Dodger's fallen sideways now, but he's still holding the gun. He lifts it, grip wavering all over the place from his injuries, and for a moment it swings towards Gavin, who's scrambled to his feet and is inching around the side of the room-

Michael doesn't think. He just acts.

He lunges at Dodger with the knife held out, and drives it deep into his chest - falls on top of the other man, bringing them both to the ground, one hand on his shoulder, the other twisting the blade in deeper. Dodger makes a choked, shocked noise. Blood bubbles between his lips, and the gun falls to the ground with a metallic clatter.

Michael sits up a little, dazed from how quickly things just seemed to happen. Dodger's jerking under him, little convulsive tremors. His lips are stained with blood, and he's coughing and choking. He can't speak, but his hand rises weakly and grips Michael's arm, eyes locked to his. Michael stares back at him, feeling oddly numb. The last look on his face is one of the most terrible, intense betrayal before he slumps back and falls still, eyes gazing sightlessly up at the ceiling.

It takes a moment for it to hit Michael. When it does, it feels like a dam's broken in his chest. Dodger might be older now - but it's still the same face, still the same mouth that used to have a child's cheeky smile, the same dark eyes that would exchange secret glances with him. Once this sight would've been his greatest nightmare; now, he's the cause of it. His throat tightens and tears well in his eyes before he can stop them.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, and for a moment he falls against the body - for a moment, it all feels terrible, and he clutches at Dodger's shirt. He regrets it, even if some faint, objective part of himself knows he shouldn't.

It's the stress of all this maybe - the blood, the sights he's seen, the pain - but suddenly it's a struggle to breathe, and he finds himself sucking in ugly, heaving sobs. There's blood dripping from him down onto the body, and he isn't sure whose it is.

The sound of a gunshot outside makes him jump - then another, and another, a rapid rattle of noise. More shouting. _The shitshow's started out there, then_ , he thinks grimly, and lowers his head for a moment, collecting himself.

_You made a choice. Live with it. Just like you always have._

Part of him still just wants to sit there and not move, to shut down, to avoid having to think about all this and process it. Like maybe if he shuts his eyes when he opens them again this whole ordeal will just have been a nightmare. But he hears a distant explosion outside, the cellar trembling, and he forces it all away - the anger, the pain, the grief - in one immense, grotesque effort before reaching up and wiping the blood and tears from his face on his sleeve.

He rises and turns to find Gavin watching him, warily, from the other side of the room. He's pressed against the wall and looks a bit shellshocked. When Michael gets up he flinches, but Michael just gives him a tired smile.

"Well this has been a real shitty day," he announces - and Gavin lets out a startled laugh. Some of the fear leaves his face, and he manages a small smile back, walking across the room to meet Michael halfway.

They get close, and one look at him makes Michael stand by his decision. How couldn't he, when Gavin's looking at him so gently, with such concern? When the other man risked his own damn life coming here to get him? He must have been scared, and given all Michael knows about him so far - it means a lot. He takes the knife and saws through the ropes around Gavin's wrists before taking his arms.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

Gavin nods.

"I'm fine," he whispers, "Michael, you're hurt-"

"I'll be okay."

"You're bleeding all over." Gavin reaches out. His hand brushes across the front of Michael's shirt and he can't help his hiss of pain. Gavin looks stricken, but Michael just takes his hand and squeezes it gently until Gavin meets his eyes again.

"I'm okay, really. Got in a few fights but they didn't hurt me too bad. I'm guessing that's Ryan out there blowing shit up?"

Gavin nods again.

"Yeah. Me getting caught wasn't really part of the plan," he admits, "But I guess it's sort of worked out. We need to get out of here. There aren't many of them left, but they still outnumber us."

Michael bends and picks up the gun from the ground. He hands Gavin the knife and watches him take it, gingerly, grimacing a little at the blood. A sudden fondness rises in his chest, and before he knows it he's reaching out and hugging Gavin, softly. The other man hugs him back; it's a sudden, tender moment, but it's not until Gavin's arms are wrapped around him and his  face is buried in Michael's shoulder that he realises just how much he needed it.

"You saved my life," Gavin whispers. "Thank you."

"You risked yours to save mine."

"So we're even?"

"So we don't need to keep count. That's what friends do for each other. That's what a crew does." They pull apart and Michael can't help reaching up to touch Gavin's cheek, wiping away some of the blood smeared across his face. Gavin looks startled, then smiles again, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. Something in Michael eases a little, something that makes him remember what he does all this for.

It's time to get home.

"Let's go," he says, and Gavin nods.

No one's come down to the cellar to check on them. They probably heard the gunshot and assumed it was Dodger killing one or the other of them.  They head up the stairs and emerge into the courtyard to find it still and quiet. There are gunshots ringing out somewhere in the next building - but no one else is out here.

"Michael," Gavin whispers, touching his arm and pointing. Michael follows his gaze and grimaces. He can see bloodied bodies lying strewn about the place, behind the trucks and cars like they were trying to stay behind cover. Clearly it didn't work.

"They're still fighting," he hisses back, as another shot rings out and he hears a woman's scream of pain. "It must be Ryan-"

He breaks off as suddenly there's a deafening hail of gunfire, focused right at them. Gavin grabs his arm and yanks him to the side, and they fall into the bushes beside the cellar door. A relentless storm of bullets peppers the wall behind where they were standing.

Michael yells in pain. Gavin pulled on his injured arm and he landed right on his shoulder, and for a moment he can't move, it hurts so much. He dropped the gun, but Gavin snatches it up. His hands are shaking, but he sits up and fires back in the direction of the bullets - bang, bang, bang! - and the gunfire stops, if only for a moment.

"We gotta run!" Gavin hisses, turning to him. His face is pale and drawn. "Get back to the car, we'll drive in and get Ryan!"

Michael nods. His eyes are tearing up from the pain but he ignores it, struggling to his feet and running after Gavin. They keep low to the ground and close to the wall - but a second later the chugging gunfire starts up again, chasing them along the wall, flecks of stone and debris springing through the air after them. It doesn't stop, and Michael realises with a shock that it's the minigun guy. He glances over his shoulder in time to see the dark figure coming after them.

"He's fucking chasing us!" he cries.

They've broken free of the farm now and stumble through the trees. Gavin ducks and weaves every which way and Michael tries to imitate his movements, but Gavin's lighter on his feet, and Michael's exhausted. Everything aches, and he's starting to feel dizzy and weak as he stumbles over stones and tree roots.

"There!" Gavin cries, and points. Behind the brush he sees the dark form of the kuruma. Gavin scrambles for the car keys and unlocks it. He darts forward to pull the door open, ushering Michael in and falling into the backseat after him. They tumble in and barely manage to slam the door behind them before the man's firing upon them again.

Michael's crammed in the footwell, Gavin half on top of him, as the car rattles with the sound of the bullets. Gavin's trembling, clutching him, and Michael pushes past the pain to sit up a bit and stretch an arm out over him protectively.

"Michael," Gavin gasps, "Michael-"

"It's fine, the car's bulletproof."

"Even this car can't withstand something like that!" Gavin squeaks.

"It can," Michael insists, "It's fine. We're fine. He'll run out of bullets eventually."

Gavin doesn't seem convinced. He curls in on himself and Michael wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. Despite his confident words, he can't help flinching a little with each bullet that strikes the car - not when he can see the shadows of them against the windows, not when he feels the thrum of each one as it hits-

But then it breaks off into a sudden, ringing silence.

There's a long pause. Michael can hear Gavin breathing heavily, can feel his heart fluttering like a bird where his arm's flung across the other man's chest. They exchange a nervous glance - then Michael forces himself to sit up, and peer out the window.

Through the tinted glass he sees the dim shape of a man appearing through the trees - a tall, dark figure. As he draws closer, Michael makes out a skull mask. The Vagabond. He throws back his head and laughs with relief, the tension draining from him in such a rush he nearly feels faint.

"Ryan!" he cries, and opens the door, spilling out of the car. "Ryan-"

Ryan rushes towards him as soon as he sees him. They slam into each other and Ryan catches him, steadying him with one hand and reaching up to pull his mask off with the other.

"Michael," he cries, "I got them. I took care of them all - you're okay. You're okay."

Michael's head's spinning. He's barely registering the words, just drinking in the feeling of Ryan's warm, strong arms around him, his calming blue eyes, his hands cupping Michael's face now as he pulls him in. They kiss, long and deep and desperate, Ryan gripping him tightly like he's scared of ever letting go. Michael clutches the front of his jacket, tugging him as close as possible. For the first time today he finally feels safe - for the first time, his racing mind calms and he can forget, if just for a minute, everything that's happened.

"You're alright," Ryan breathes again, when they pull apart. Michael looks up and frowns. He can see in an instant just how terrified Ryan must have been. His eyes are red like he's been crying, surrounded by dark worried lines, and even if all his injuries ache Michael yanks him close and hugs him tightly, burying his face in the crook of Ryan's neck. He barely registers that there are tears leaking from his eyes, too, and it's painful to breathe.

"Michael? What happened?" Ryan asks, reaching up and stroking a hand through his hair.

"Everything," Michael chokes out. It's such a blur he can barely think straight. "Nothing. I'll tell you - back home."

Ryan nods. For a moment they stand, rocking one another, and Michael lets himself just not think about it for a moment. Then Ryan pulls back a little, and turns, and Michael follows his gaze.

Gavin is lingering by the car, watching the two of them with a small smile. He looks wrecked too, Michael notices - bloody and favouring one arm - but there’s relief written all over his face too, and when Ryan extends an arm he hesitantly moves forward until Ryan pulls him in with him, one arm around each of them. Gavin’s smile widens a little, and it feels like warm sunshine, somehow cheering Michael’s mood even after everything.

“We did it,” Ryan says, glancing between them. “We killed them all. Every last one in the compound. I’d do it again, for you, if I had to.”

“There are a few left with the tank,” Gavin murmurs, “But if our numbers are right, only three or four.”

“Not enough to rebuild from,” Ryan says. Michael can barely believe the words; they sound too good to be true. “We can take them out easily, once we’ve healed - or get Geoff and Gemini to. It’s over,” he repeats, “The Lost are defeated.”

It doesn’t sound real. Michael clings to Ryan’s arm, looks at the relief in his face. The exhaustion on Gavin’s. Everything hurts, and he needs time to process this - but with the two of them pressed close to him, it finally feels like their string of failures and setbacks is over. Like things might start working out for them.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends what I consider 'arc one' (out of two) of the story - the Lost might be defeated but there's still quite a bit more to go >)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**xxiii. fairy dust**

_Gavin has only met the Hart twins a half dozen times. The most recent of these is etched into his memory like a scar._

_"Gavin! Come here," he remembers Clayton snapping. He'd been trying to inch past the main area of the base to get to the kitchen. He knew the Harts were coming today. Didn't know what for._

_Now his heart rate picks up as he walks over to find Clayton standing right next to them, outside one of the interrogation rooms. They're leaning against the wall, glacial and gorgeous, as tall as Clayton himself, with eyes like ice. He'd be hard-pressed to tell them apart if it wasn't for the small tattoo of a diamond on one of Janica's cheeks. The sight of them makes him think of a night five months ago - God, has it been that long already? - a bag over his head, a woman's perfume, a frantic deal that would save his life, or he thought it would._

_Clayton g _r_ abs his shoulder and yanks him closer as he approaches._

_"Gavin here's been doing some good work for us," he informs them. "He's working on a new heist. Gonna break into one of Trinity's vaults. Steal some gold bars we've gotten wind of."_

_"Ah yes," Liesel says - she's the more talkative of the two, Gavin recalls. The one whose nails left a scar that's still healing on his left shoulder. "Your little pet thief. How could I forget? He could be the key to claiming more territory in this shithole of a city. You made a good choice, Clayton."_

_Clayton grins, Cheshire-like, smug._

_"If he behaves himself," he says, and grabs Gavin's arm right over the bandages where the burn's still healing. He hisses in pain, curling in on himself, but Clayton's grip is iron-tight as he forces his arm up where the twins can see. "Caught him trying to escape the other day. We can't have that, can we?"_

_The twins frown, and Gavin's heart's beating rabbit-fast. He can barely breathe - doesn't know if he's meant to meet their eyes or not - his arm feels like it's on fire, and he's pinned down like a butterfly nailed to a board._

_"Definitely not," Liesel murmurs, and steps towards him, tilting her head as she stares angrily down at him. "Where did you think you were going to go, Gavin? What help did you think you'd find in the rest of this city? Even if you got out of the base... what then? You have no money, no friends, no power. If Gemini didn't find you first, the Fakes would - that wretch Ramsey and all his little friends. After all you've done for us, they'd kill you as soon as look at you."_

_Gavin's heart's leapt into his throat. He's heard a lot of things about the Fake AH Crew, enough to doubt Liesel's side of things - but not quite enough to make him brave. Right now her pale eyes boring into him are enough to make him quiver and lower his head._

_"We don't take kindly to people trying to betray us," Liesel continues, and Clayton nods. He twists Gavin's arm and he cries out, knees buckling in pain. "We need to keep a tight control on things. That's the only way to stay safe - you understand that, don't you, Gavin? We can't have any liabilities around. We already took one chance on you, and one's all you get."_

_"Do you know why the Harts are here, Gav?" Clayton adds. "Elliot - you know, the hacker? - he sold us out to the police the other day. They paid him a pretty amount for it, too. He tried to skip out on us before we noticed, just like you did. But we caught him, too. The twins have just been dealing with him."_

_Gavin feels cold all over. Clayton grabs him by the hair then, dragging him towards the interrogation room door. Janica opens it smoothly for them._

_"I think," Clayton continues darkly, "You can clean up the mess for us. Might make the lesson stick a bit more, you know?"_

_He throws Gavin to the ground. He grunts, the wind knocked out of him - only to realise he's landed in something wet and sticky. It takes a moment for it to register -_ blood _\- he looks up. The floor's red, the walls are red, the body's lying in front of him - or pieces of it are, at least, and he turns away, gagging, stomach retching but not much coming up. He's barely eaten since Clayton caught him trying to escape. Part of the punishment._

Oh God, oh God, oh God-

_A heeled boot descends on his back and he falls. His cheek's pressed to the sticky floor; it's all over his face, filling his nose with its coppery smell, getting in his eyes, on his lips. The heel digs into his back hard enough to draw blood, a crushing pressure pinning him down-_

_(Butterfly-)_

_And a woman's voice, leaning in to whisper softly in his ear._

_"You're alone here, Gavin. There's no escape. No rescue. So you'd better start making your choices very, very,_ very _carefully-"_

"-ow! Fuck."

"Sorry, sorry - I'm trying to be careful."

"I know." A shaky breath. "You're good. It just stung a bit. Had worse, haven't I?"

Gavin bites his lip as he goes to the laundry sink. He can hear the others in the sitting room - can see them, if he turns to look out the door. It's warm in there, with the air con up high and all the windows shut - but the tiles of the laundry are cold under his feet, and there's a draft coming through the back door. 

That's not why he's shaking.

He drops the bloody rags in the sink and turns the tap on, wringing them out. Pinkish water runs down into the sink. There's a lot of blood. It's all Michael's.

That's not why he feels sick.

Since they got back from the countryside they've mostly been focused on patching Michael up. He told them about the barn, about the trial and what they tried to make him do. Ryan told them all about how he'd massacred the rest of the gang, how he'd made sure every single one of them was dead. By all accounts it definitely seems like they've finished the job, because Gavin-

Gavin knows where the tank is.

He hasn't told the others yet, but back in the house he saw maps that had the location on it. He knows where it is and that means they're gonna find it and everything will be done, they'll be finished with the mission and the safehouse and working together-

And he's scared shitless about what will happen next.

He told Ryan everything earlier because he was sick of the lies, and scared about what might happen to Michael, and he didn't want any more secrets between them. At first it had been a relief to get it out - had felt like a huge weight finally lifting off his shoulders, like a window had opened in a dark room. Finally he wasn't alone, trapped by his secrets as much as by Gemini themselves.

_I promise,_ Ryan had said.

_You matter. I promise. We're gonna help you._

It'd been nice at the time, but since then Gavin feels like his chest is getting tighter and tighter, like invisible hands are pulling at his hair and his clothes, trying to drag him back into the dark. He thinks he knows the others well enough to trust them. He believes they want to help him. But he's more scared than he's ever been, more scared than he was the first time Clayton hit him, the first time he tried to escape, the first time he realised that maybe it was a sad reality that he wouldn't get out of this mess, that he'd be stuck here forever.

Because freedom is so close now, closer than it's ever been. If this doesn't work out, he doesn't think another chance will come along - not in time at least.

It's close enough to taste - but still so far away, because the Lost are gone, and that means Clayton will want him back. The moment of truth is coming, the moment that'll change everything, and his heart pounds so fast it hurts, and he washes his hands again and again even though the blood's long gone, listening to the others' faint murmuring in the other room.

"Jesus, what did you say did this again? A shovel?"

"Yeah. Edge caught me when he swiped at me with it. It's not deep. These stitches should hold."

"It might get infected. You might need a tetanus shot."

Michael laughs. It's a nice sound, and it should make something in Gavin relax, because Michael's been so lovely with him. He can't stop thinking about all the late nights they spent together talking and joking. He wishes he could live in those moments forever, and not have to worry.

"Gavin?" Ryan calls out then. His voice makes Gavin jump a little. "How you doing out there?"

"Coming!" Gavin shouts back. His voice seems small and weak, but he takes a deep breath and grabs the clean shirts from the dryer that he was meant to be collecting before heading back out into the warmth of the sitting room.

Michael is lying on a towel on the couch, grimacing as Ryan pulls back away from him. His shirt's off and there's a dark row of stitches across his stomach. Gavin hadn't liked seeing the wound; something about the placement of it, right across his abdomen, had made him feel ill. Had reminded him of how often he's seen Clayton's mercenaries slash a knife across someone's stomach to disembowel them, how he's never gotten used to the way a person's innards smell.

But Michael's fine; none of his injuries were too serious. His shoulder's dark with bruising, but otherwise not too badly damaged, and Ryan’s sponged the blood off him. Now he looks tired and pale - but he'll recover. 

They got out of this one pretty lucky, all things considered.

Gavin inches closer and passes Michael a shirt. Michael smiles at him, his eyes warm and fond, but Gavin can see how shaken he looks underneath it.

_He killed Dodger for you._

Those moments down in the basement had been terrifying - he'd genuinely not known what Michael was going to do. Part of him still can't believe what went down.

_What if he resents you for it? For getting caught, for forcing him to have to make that choice-_

_Don't be stupid_ , he tells himself, but the worming little voice is still there, impossible for him to shake out. Michael sits up - grimacing at the wound on his stomach - but shifts sideways on the couch and pats the spot next to him.

"I'm all done," he says. "Your turn."

"What?" Gavin asks softly, and Ryan frowns, gesturing to the seat.

"Sit down. Your shoulder's bleeding. What happened?"

"Oh." In all the adrenaline he'd gotten used to the throbbing pain. He sits down and grimaces - now that they're safe it's starting to hurt more. "I got bitten by one of those dogs."

Ryan and Michael freeze, and he sees them exchange a worried look.

"That's gonna take more than what we've got here," Michael says, concerned. "You'll probably need shots. Luckily we've already called Geoff over - I'll text him and tell him to bring Caleb."

"Our medic," Ryan explains, at Gavin's blank look, and motions for him to take his shirt off. "Let me get a look at it?"

Gavin starts shrugging off his jacket, but his heart's pounding. _Geoff's coming here?_ He'd thought they'd have more time before going to meet the other man - time for him to gather himself, to talk to the others, and to figure out what the fuck he’s gonna do about Clayton. It feels even more like time's running out, like everything's about to change. He keeps waiting for Ryan to bring up what happened, or for Michael to ask what comes next.

"Hey." Ryan's hand's on his uninjured shoulder suddenly, and Gavin jumps - but when he looks up, Ryan's calm blue eyes are staring back at him, and his hand is very warm against Gavin's skin. He gives a small, reassuring smile, and somehow that helps - somehow that makes Gavin relax a little. He isn't sure why. It's just a touch. "Relax, okay? You're breathing really fast."

"Everything alright?" Michael adds quietly.

Gavin bites his lip and nods. It's nice that they noticed, but when he sees them exchange another glance he only feels even more nervous because-

Suddenly it's not just about Clayton, about the situation, about escape. Suddenly, he doesn't know what the two of them think of him, how they see him. Stupid? Pathetic? Is it just pity in their eyes, in how Ryan grabs a fresh washcloth and starts gently trying to clean his wound?

Or is it something more - something genuine in Michael's affection, something tentatively caring in Ryan's touch? He's scared to hope - scared of why it suddenly seems to mean so much to him. Of why some stupid, treacherous part of himself won't stop hoping that maybe they-

Maybe they-

_You like them too much._ He grunts in pain as Ryan presses on his wound. Michael reaches out and puts a hand on his leg, squeezing gently, and Ryan's thumb strokes over the bare skin of his shoulder, and they're both touching him, _touching him,_ and it's totally fucking innocent but he feels flustered suddenly, can't help it. _You like them too much and-_

(Does he? Or is it just because it's the first damn kindness he's felt in so long, because he sees them as some sort of saviours or heroes, that his heart beats faster and their touch feels like electricity - that his mind runs wild with fantasies he barely dares linger on?)

He can't tell, and that's what scares him just as much.

"This might sting a little," Ryan says, his voice low and caring. Gavin nods, squeezing his eyes shut. It does sting, but he's distracted by the fact that Ryan isn't holding back, now, that he's not pretending he doesn't care or distancing himself to avoid getting hurt.

What could that mean?

_Stop overthinking things, you're stupid, you're so fucking stupid, don't get your damn hopes up. Don't you remember what sort of position you're in?_

_Why the hell would they want_ you _, anyway?_

"Should we stitch this up or wait for Caleb?" Ryan murmurs. There's a cloth pressed to the bite now; Gavin hasn't looked at it. He's scared it will be gruesome. He has more than enough scars already.

"It's not bleeding too badly," Michael points out. "Wait, just in case."

"Okay."

Ryan smooths a bandage over the injury, and Michael's hand squeezes Gavin's knee reassuringly. He opens his eyes and lets out a breath. Both of them are watching him with gentle smiles.

"Thanks," Gavin whispers, and Ryan nods then pauses, looking between the two of them - they got the worst of it; Ryan's bruises will heal quickly - and Gavin sees the moment the stress of the day hits him. His shoulders slump, like a marionette whose strings just got cut.

"I'm glad both of you are okay," he says, and bites his lip. "I was worried, back there."

"Ryan," Michael says. He stands, grimaces, presses a hand to his stomach - but moves up to embrace Ryan, wrapping his arms around him gently, one hand curling around his neck to pull him forward until their foreheads touch. "We're fine. You didn't lose us. We all got out alive."

_We,_ Gavin thinks, and lets his mind wrap around the word, run over it again and again like he’s stroking something soft. Lets it give him a bit of a thrill. _Us_.

He watches as Michael leans up to kiss Ryan - doesn't look away for once, but allows his eyes to linger on the way their bodies press together, how their lips work in easy tandem, how comfortably Ryan lets his hands fall to rest on Michael's waist. They're used to each other, there's something familiar to it, and something too close to longing burns in his chest.

_Stop it!_

_You're going to ruin everything if you keep going on like this-_

But he shoves the thought away, a burning rebelliousness in his heart. He wants that. Why should he lie? For so long he's been alone and numb that the thought of feeling something - something _good_ \- is like manna to a starving man.

When they break apart, Ryan runs a hand through Michael's hair. Gavin's eyes track the motion. He thinks of how Clayton grabs him to throw him around, how he pulls until Gavin's eyes water. Ryan's a big guy, strong, but he touches Michael gently, like he's something precious. It makes a shiver run down his spine.

"I'm gonna go call Geoff, make sure he brings Caleb along," Ryan whispers. "Then I'll just run to the shops quickly to get more med supplies. We're running low."

"Okay," Michael replies.

"You'll be alright on your own here?"

"Of course, Ryan. I'm injured, I'm not an invalid." Michael rolls his eyes, but leans forward to peck Ryan on the lips fondly. He turns to sit down again and for a moment both of their eyes are on Gavin. They must have seen him staring. He freezes, awkward - but Ryan just gives him a small nod, and then he's out the door-

And it's just Michael and Gavin again.

The room seems too empty suddenly, too silent. All he can hear is the ticking of the clock and the beat of his own heart - off-rhythm with one another, anxious - and he suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. Michael sits down next to him and Gavin feels the couch dip under his weight. When Michael touches his arm, he jumps, and turns to find him just a little too close, brown eyes staring at him in concern.

"You seem out of it," Michael announces, jumping straight to the point as always, "You have since we got back. Does your arm hurt? Need painkillers?"

Gavin shakes his head.

"No - I mean, yes, it hurts, but I'll be okay. Just... thinking a lot."

Michael stares at him for a long moment. An irrational fear builds up in Gavin that the other man can somehow read his mind, that he can tell Gavin's still thinking about him and Ryan. Him-and-Ryan. Them. _Us. We._

But Michael just stands up again, and walks towards the cabinet.

"Need a drink?" he asks instead, and Gavin laughs and leans back against the couch, running his shaking hands over his face.

"Yeah, a drink would be nice. You should eat," he adds a bit awkwardly, "You haven't today, yeah?"

"I'm guessing you and Ryan didn't either," Michael comments grimly, as he grabs glasses for them. "I think he'll bring something back. Lost my appetite, though." He looks down for a moment, fingers clenching on the edge of the counter. "Saw some shit that'd put anyone off their dinner."

"Makes sense," Gavin whispers. He remembers days when some of the things he saw Gemini do wouldn't leave his mind, when he struggled to eat or sleep, when the sight would swim back into his mind at random moments without notice.

"You'd think I'd be used to it, yeah? I was, back when I was younger. Stopped affecting me at all. What it looks like. The smell of it." He rubs his hands together before taking a deep breath and going for the bottle again. "Guess I got over it more than I realised."

"That's a good thing," Gavin points out, and Michael nods.

"I guess it is."

He walks back over and passes Gavin a glass. Their fingers brush as he takes it and Gavin's stomach jolts. Michael sits again - on the coffee table this time, facing him, their knees bumping together a little as he leans forward.

"What's on your mind?" he urges, and Gavin swallows. He turns away for a moment and knocks back nearly the entire drink in one go; it makes him cough and splutter but the warmth that spreads through his chest afterwards makes him feel brave, too.

He puts the glass down and meets Michael's eyes.

"You killed Dodger for me," he blurts out.

Michael's shoulders stiffen and that haunted look appears in his eyes again. He sips his drink slowly, hands wrapped around the glass. His knuckles are scraped and scuffed, a line of bruises around his wrists where he must have been tied up at some point.

"I did," he replies, and lowers his head for a moment.

"You saved my life," Gavin continues. His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, but he can't stop talking. "That can't have been easy. I know you were really close to him once."

"Yeah. It was... pretty fucking hard," Michael says, and Gavin sees him swallow. "I told you what they tried to make me do, back in that barn. And I was tempted, I can't lie. I thought about that cop and whether I valued his life over mine and honestly? I didn't. I wanted to survive. I didn't want to leave Ryan, I didn't want to leave the crew behind. If they'd put that knife to my throat and said it was him or me I don't know what I'd've done."

"It's not the same," Gavin says. "They were forcing you to do it. It's not like you chose to."

"True."

"And he wasn't a good man. None of us are."

Michael nods, but he still ducks his head and drinks again before looking up again. There are dark shadows under his eyes and for a moment Gavin sees a scared little boy again.

"You're right, but it... it all reminded me of who I used to be. Maybe I resisted this time, and maybe back then I left eventually, but time and time again I still killed because I was too scared to refuse. And time and time again there were occasions when I enjoyed it."

"But you didn't enjoy it this time," Gavin murmurs, and Michael shakes his head.

"No. No, I didn't. You're right," he repeats, and bites his lip, and for a moment he looks so upset that it makes Gavin's chest clench, "It was hard and I already miss him."

"Michael..."

Gavin's hand reaches out, brushing against Michael's knee. The other man rises, and Gavin stiffens - but he just takes a step forward and plonks himself down on the couch beside Gavin instead. When he sinks into the cushions their sides press against each other for a moment.

Michael downs the rest of his drink and puts it down. He stares at his hands, hesitant to talk - but when he does start to speak Gavin leans forward, eager to listen. To help, if he can.

"He was my brother once. And right to the end he was trying to save me. All I wanted was to leave the Lost behind but he wanted me to come back - he still believed that I could. It wasn't all bad, there. I mean, a lot of it was, but we were still a family. We still cared about each other, despite all the other shit. And that he believed I could come back made me doubt whether I'd even changed all that much. If Hook really is still inside me. If it might actually be that easy."

"You never would," Gavin says firmly. "You have Ryan now. You have the Fakes."

"Yeah," Michael agrees. "That kept me holding on. But still - feels like I betrayed him. Like I did something... something bloody and wrong just like the old days."

Gavin bites his lip, looking away.

_He did that for you. He feels like this because of you. You got your stupid arse captured, you fucked up like always and now he's hurt. Now he's got this problem._

Michael must see the look on his face, because he reaches out and nudges him.

"Hey," he insists, "I don't regret it. Yeah, I feel bad, but Dodger had it coming. He chose this work. He had every chance to leave. Hell, I tried to tell him, more than once. He was just - too broken to see. I'm lucky I never got to that point. He was with Kant a lot longer than I was, you know?"

"You really don't regret it?" Gavin can't help asking. His voice comes out too small - but Michael nods, fiercely.

"I really don't," he says. "I know it wasn't my fault, not really. They made me do it. And I'd do it again for you."

There's something in the way he says it. Like the words are fire, and his eyes are as intense as his voice as he leans forward. Gavin finds it hard to breathe suddenly, especially when Michael's hand comes to rest on his arm.

"I mean it," he continues, "And _you,_ Gavin..."

"Me?"

"Ryan told me about your situation before," Michael says, and Gavin freezes. This is what he'd been expecting; for someone to finally bring it up, for something to happen. His heart picks up, faster, faster, fast as a butterfly's wings. "That you don't work for Gemini. That they have you... trapped."

His face twists angrily on the last word, and Gavin swallows, looking down.

"Hey." There's something gentler in Michael's voice. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"For what? Not your fault. Got myself into this stupid mess-"

"No, you didn't," Michael replies immediately. "Don't you dare fucking blame yourself. And my apology is for treating you like shit at the start of all this."

"You didn't know."

"I shouldn't have assumed. God, now I think back on it... I was making everything worse for you and I didn't even know it. If anyone's stupid it's me."

"Michael, no," Gavin insists, and he's the one to reach out now, grasping Michael's shoulder. He likes the way the other man relaxes under his touch, just like he does with Ryan. "You've made everything better. You were kind to me. You're the first person in a long time to treat me like... like a human, instead of just something to be used."

"Jesus, Gavin-"

"I mean it. Yeah, I was scared of you at first, but I can't thank you enough for everything you gave me since then."

"What," Michael says, lips twisting, "Bad mac and cheese and a lot of shitty jokes?"

"Friendship," Gavin whispers, and Michael's face softens even more.

"What I was getting at before," he says slowly, "Is that you... you showed me something. Or your situation did, I guess. All the bad shit Gemini's done, it was funded on the heists you pulled - but you're not the one to blame. You were forced into this. You had no choice. You were scared, and hurt, and assholes like Clayton who have power over you made you do it."

"People still got hurt," Gavin whispers.

"It's not on you. Just like what happened back when I was in the Lost isn't all on me. Took me twenty six fucking years to realise it, and Dodger nearly set me back a good few decades back there, but... I can see it. When I look at you, I see it. And it reminds me I'm not a monster, I'm not like Kant or any of the rest of them, just like you're not like the Harts or Gemini. So thank _you_ for that, Gavin. I mean it."

Gavin looks down again, his cheeks heating at the intensity in Michael's eyes.

"And I meant what I said before, too. I'd kill him again if I had to. I'd kill any of them to protect you. Ryan and I, we're not gonna let him hurt you anymore. You're safe with us. We'll make sure of it."

Tears burn in Gavin's eyes before he can stop them. There's something so blazingly intent in Michael's voice that he's quite sure if he got too close it would burn him - it _has_ burned him, it's burned away all the little voices in the back of his head that spent so long telling him _you're not enough, no one cares about you, there's no one coming-_

_You're alone, alone, alone-_

He's not, and Michael reaches out now and tilts his chin up, trying to get him to look at him - Gavin can see it in his eyes, he means every fucking word of it, and his hand is very gentle where it's cradling Gavin's jaw, and his lips are quirking into a little smile-

And Gavin kisses him.

Like a fucking idiot, he kisses him.

He leans in and closes the distance between them, his lips brushing against Michael's. The last thing he sees is the other man's eyes widening in surprise - Gavin starts to pull back, but the next thing he knows Michael's other hand is on his cheek and he's pulling him closer, angling Gavin's head better to deepen the kiss. Gavin gives in immediately - every sense seems to be drowned out with _Michael,_ his rough, calloused fingers against Gavin's skin, the warmth of his body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue-

For a moment, it's perfect. For a moment, it wipes everything else away, and he feels nothing but safe and whole.

Then Michael jerks back with a little gasp, and Gavin pulls back too, body hunching up into itself as it hits him what the fuck just happened, and suddenly all the fear's flooding back in-

_Oh God, oh God, what the hell have you done? What have you fucking done?_

The panic rises immediately - dear God, Michael's with Ryan, and they haven't talked about this, and oh God they'll hate him now, they'll be furious with him, what if they don't help him anymore? What if he's just made things awkward, what if he's ruined everything-

"Gavin," Michael's saying - his eyes are wide, and he's got one hand up, fingers lingering just over his lips like he can't believe what just happened. "Gavin, I'm so-"

"Sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Gavin blurts out - he's gasping for breath, in and out like he's drowning, and when Michael grabs his hands he jerks back, flinching.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Michael insists, and Gavin freezes - shocked - "Jesus, I shouldn't... I shouldn't have done that."

Gavin opens his mouth to speak - _Ryan_ on the tip of his tongue, more apologies, more assurances - but Michael's already shaking his head.

"Calm down. It's not you, I just... you're not thinking straight. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you-"

"What?" Gavin manages to squeak out, confused as well as scared now. "But _I_ kissed _you!"_

Michael just sort of stares at him, and Gavin bites his lip, looking away. He's still breathing so fast that his chest hurts - but Michael hasn't let go of his hands, and Gavin doesn't want to pull away. The warmth of the other man's touch is the only thing grounding him, because right now everything else feels precarious - like he's teetering on a tightrope over a sudden drop, like things could fall apart any moment-

_Why did you do that, Gavin? What did you think would happen? You think they'll want you, now? You've ruined everything-_

_But he kissed you back._ He can't help but notice that - and notice how Michael's cheeks are flushed, too, and his thumb's stroking soothingly over the back of Gavin's hand. Gavin looks away, his own face burning. He doesn't want to speak, doesn't even want to meet Michael's eyes, is desperate for this to just somehow resolve itself-

Then his phone starts buzzing.

It's the new one that Clayton gave him last time he was over there, shoved in the back of his jeans pocket, and the sudden noise makes both of them jump. He pulls away from Michael and scrambles to his feet, digging it out.

The sight of Clayton's name always makes him feel sick. This time it literally makes his knees buckle, makes it feel like the world is spinning around him. He has to put a hand out on the back of the couch to steady himself.

"Gavin?" Michael calls out. Gavin still can't look at him. "It's him, isn't it? Don't answer."

"I have to," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut - it's been drilled into him. You answer the fucking phone when Clayton calls you. If you don't, it just means punishment and pain. He can't break that, even for Michael. "This won't take long-"

"Gavin, you don't have to anymore. Geoff's about to come over here, we'll talk about it-"

Oh god, more _talking_ \- but what's Michael gonna tell them now? Jesus, will he even want Gavin in the crew after what just happened? 

He shakes his head, clutching the phone.

“I can’t… I _have_ to, Michael,” he insists, even if his hands are trembling. Suddenly the room feels too small, the heat too intense. He turns to go, and Michael gets up and reaches for him, but Gavin spins away, hurrying out the laundry room, through the back door and into the cold outside.

It’s evening by now, and the back garden is dark. As soon as he goes outside he regrets it; the frosty air hits him like a slap and he didn’t bring his jacket. The phone’s still buzzing in his hand, and Gavin doesn’t know what to say or do. He feels more lost than ever.

“Gavin!” 

Michael’s still calling him. He barges out the backdoor and Gavin turns towards him - but before he can stop himself he hits the call button and lifts the phone to his ear. He meets Michael’s eyes helplessly - the other man stares back at him, looking just as lost and desperate.

“Clayton?” Gavin says softly, and sees Michael’s jaw clench along with his fists. For a moment an icy hand grips his heart - _is he angry with me? Must he hate me, now? -_ but a moment later the look on Michael’s face softens into something else.

_Worry_.

“Gavin,” Clayton drawls, slowly. His voice sends an icy tingle down Gavin’s spine and he turns and walks away, shoulders hunching. He doesn’t want Michael to see him scared, to see him ashamed and humiliated by whatever Clayton’s about to say to him, and-

_After this he won’t care, anyway. You’ve ruined everything._

 

* * *

 

"You haven't reported back since yesterday," Clayton says. His tone is friendly enough, but there's a dark undercurrent. "That hit was meant to finish them off. Can I presume it failed - again?"

Gavin takes a shaky breath. He's sitting on the ground by the shed, the corrugated metal wall pressing uncomfortably into his back. The metal is cold and the ground under him is damp, and he's quite certain that even over the phone Clayton can tell just how terrified he is-

Not just of him. But because every word Gavin says to him is a loaded gun - every answer he gives will determine how all the rest of this plays out. And usually he's good at lying, at navigating these mazes and finding the best way to work himself out of a mess. But right now his head is filled with clouds and he knows Michael is watching him from the kitchen window.

"No, it - it didn't fail," he manages finally. If Clayton thinks it did, he'll order him back to base right away. He'll be dialling the Harts before Gavin can even put the phone down. "We had some setbacks, that's why I delayed calling you. But it worked. All but a handful of the Lost are dead."

"I see," Clayton says darkly. "And you wouldn't happen to know why two of my best mercs disappeared this morning after going to try and salvage your fucking mess at the lake, would you?"

Oh, God. Michael told him what happened and he knows Clayton will be pissed-

(He'll take it out on you-)

_You won't be there anymore. They're gonna get you out of there. They promised._

_But after what you just did? What the hell is Michael gonna tell Ryan when he gets home? Remember how Ryan hated you at the start- how he said not to mess with Michael? He'll see this as a threat-_

Some part of him wants to know this is irrational, that Michael kissed him back, didn't seem angry, that for the last few days things between all three of them have been - _different_. But right now it feels like he's looking at everything through fogged glass, it's a murky mess he can't figure out. His judgment’s clouded, he can see that now. Clouded by his own desperate desire for someone to care about him - by his own stupid _want._

"Gavin," Clayton prompts, a warning in his tone.

"Sorry," Gavin blurts out automatically, "I... yes, we found the men. They were captured and killed by the Lost along with one of the Fakes' contacts. But the people who did it are dead. All of them," he repeats, shakily, "They're _all dead._ The Lost are finished."

Clayton is silent for a long moment, but Gavin can hear him breathing, in that particular way he knows means the other man has a cigarette in his mouth.

"I see," he says finally. "So what I'm hearing is that the job’s just about done, then. And the tank? Did you find that?"

And this - this is the part where Gavin really has no bloody clue what to say. He hasn't had a chance to tell the others yet. He was going to - to come up with a plan together, part of which he assumed involved letting him join the Fakes-

But now he isn't sure.

_(Oh God, why did you have to kiss him?)_

If Michael and Ryan are pissed at him, if he _has_ ruined everything, giving Clayton the tank is the only way for him to make it out of here unpunished. If he lies and says the job’s still going, Clayton might call him back to the base to work from there, since with the Lost's main force dead the collaborative part of this whole thing is over. 

He has no idea what to do, and his breathing picks up again. He clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle it before Clayton can hear.

"Gavin," Clayton snaps, "I'm starting to lose my fucking patience! Where are you? Are the others around or something? Surely you're not fucking stupid enough to answer the phone in front of them!"

"No!" Gavin stammers, before he can stop himself, "They're- they're not-"

"Then hurry up and tell me, did you find the fucking tank or not?"

"Yes." The words leave his mouth nearly outside of his own control. "Yes, I found the location. I haven't told the others yet, they don't know."

There's a long silence. He can hear his own staggered breathing and in that moment he despises himself. _What are you doing? You could have told Ryan and Michael first._

But he's just - _scared._ He didn't want to tell Clayton but it's hard wired into him, like the way he jumps at sudden sounds and keeps his back to the wall when possible. It's automatic to obey. Anything to avoid another slap across the face. A hand twisting in his hair. 

Clayton starts to laugh - low rasping chuckles. Each one feels like fingers brushing across Gavin's face, nails that can scratch - a gentleness that could turn to pain in a second, with the wrong word or a silence that stretches just a little too long.

"Good boy," he says. "Very good boy. I'll let the twins know we're on track. As soon as we finish here, send me the coordinates. Then we put the next step in place, right away."

"The next step?"

"We lead the others into our trap. There's no time to waste - with the Lost taken out, Eastside is ripe for the taking - if we can pluck it before the Fakes get here. I'm going to set up a warehouse immediately with guns and mercs. You know the one - down by the water,  behind the reservoir. Where we hid all that meth one time after the feds busted our lab."

"I remember," Gavin whispers.

"You tell Haywood and Jones that the tank’s there. That you need to go get it as soon as possible, before the Lost move it. We'll get the jump on them - take them out."

Gavin can't speak. He sits, frozen, phone clenched tightly in his hand.

"Gavin?" Clayton prompts, an edge of annoyance in his voice again. "You got all that?"

“Yes, sir."

"Good. We're close to the end, here. If you pull this off I'll even tell the Harts just what a good job you've done. Don't fail me now. I'll be expecting those coordinates."

"Okay," Gavin whispers, and Clayton hangs up. 

In the silence that follows he realises just how cold he is. His fingers are numb, his face, too, and when he tries to move his whole body feels stiff. He clambers awkwardly to his feet and steadies himself against the shed, feeling weak and dizzy.

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

He wants to go back inside where it's warm, but he can't bring himself to. Part of him feels sullied and ashamed, like he doesn't deserve to be in there with them. _Weak. You're so fucking weak. Too weak to tell Clayton to go fuck himself. Too weak to give the others the tank when you know they need it._

_He wants to hurt them, kill them._

_Are you going to let him?_

He paces across the yard, forcing himself to move only because he knows if he stands there any longer he'll end up rooted to the spot, too anxious to move. Michael's waiting for him inside. He'll ask what the call was about, what Clayton wants him to do now. He pauses, staring up at the warm glow of the kitchen window. In the darkness and cold of the garden it seems like a window into heaven. In there is safe, and warm, and bright. Michael's not watching him any more - who knows what he's gone to do - but Gavin thinks of him, and how for a brief moment as they kissed everything was perfect.

His stomach twists - but even if he doesn't want to dwell on how he's ruined everything, he can't forget _why_ he did it. 

Michael is everything he wants to be. Strong and brave and bold. Michael's been so kind to him; Gavin at once admires and desires him. And today, just today - wonderful Michael was so brave. He refused to do what the Lost wanted. He resisted. 

Gavin can't send Clayton the coordinates - he _won't._

Just that simple decision somehow warms him as he opens the back door and shuffles inside. _For once in your life, be brave. For once, make a choice and stick to it. Don't let the fear make you weak._

He won't betray them, he thinks, and takes a deep breath, straightening his back as he enters the house - but he can't stay, either. If he does this, Gemini will come after him, Clayton will hunt him down and torture the truth out of him. He's scared the others won't want him now, so there's only one option left.

He has to flee the city.

Michael's not in the sitting room, but as Gavin shuffles to his bedroom he hears the shower running in the ensuite. Good, he thinks - that'll buy him some time. Ryan's still out. A small part of him, as he passes their bedroom door, feels a little pang of hurt. He'd assumed Michael would be in here waiting to talk to him. Not just about Clayton, but about what else just happened.

He's relieved they don't have to discuss it - but the fear rises up again, _he doesn't know how to tell you he doesn't feel that way, that this was a mistake, that this can't happen now. That you've fucked things up. Michael's so nice, he wouldn't want to hurt you. But you've brought this on yourself._

He shuts his door behind him and takes a deep breath. Rubs his hands together to warm them up - and gets started.

He's made quick escapes before, laid out plans at the last minute and done them on the fly. Fleeing England was the big one, but Clayton's had him pull some heists when he was pretty fucking unprepared before. But this - this will be the biggest one of all, because Gemini has power here, more power than Hanson ever had. 

Still. He has no choice.

First he packs everything in his room up. There isn't much; he hasn't got many possessions nowadays, but he stuffs all his clothes back in his bag and checks his gun - still a full clip - lays that to one side and then, in the room as bare as it was the day he stepped into it, opens his notebook.

First: where will he go?

No matter where he is, he knows as long as he's within reach Clayton will come after him. That means he has to leave the country, and the farthest place he can think of is... well, Antarctica's not a viable option.

_Australia,_ he thinks rather hysterically, and frowns.

That's gonna be one expensive plane ticket. Stop one, then, will be somewhere far enough that Clayton can't get to him just yet, but cheaper to get to.

_Oregon_ , he decides, _and then Australia,_ and first he'll have to get enough money to get there. That means robbing somewhere, and when he pulls up a map of the city there are a few clear choices.

A dry cleaner's that's a front for laundering money that Clayton's taken him to numerous times before - there'll be cash there, and a lot of it. Or there's the apartment of one of their cocaine dealers, a little further into the city, a man Gavin knows is weak enough that he's not too dangerous to rob. There are ATMs and convenience stores and street corners where he knows drug deals go down. If he scoped one out he could pickpocket some of them as they're leaving.

The dry cleaner's, he decides on - it's one of the safer options, and close to the house, and he can go right from there to the airport. It'll be expensive to buy a ticket so last-minute, but that can't be helped. He needs to get out, right now.

_And leave the others?_ A treacherous voice whispers at the back of his head. _What are they going to think about this? You up and vanishing without so much as a goodbye?_

_I'll leave them the tank,_ he thinks, already opening to a new page and scribbling the location on it. Clayton's waiting for this exact same information. Gavin's surprised he hasn't texted demanding it already. _They'll be able to take down Gemini with it-_

_You know that's not what they care about._

He pauses. For a moment he thinks of Ray, and how he vanished without another word. How broken Michael had looked as he told the story. The hurt confusion in his face.

_You want to do that to him again? Disappear without telling him why? Without giving him a chance to ask you to stay?_

For a moment, his stomach coils - but an anxious denial rises up again immediately. That was different, wasn't it? Michael loved Ray. Ryan did too. They wanted to all be together.

And no matter how much Gavin wants that, too-

_(Even if Michael kissed you back, didn't he?-)_

He's damaged goods, he's fucked up and useless and he should've asked before kissing Michael, and there's just no way this will work out, and he should go before he loses his nerve. He rips the page from the book and sets it on his pillow. Shoulders his backpack and freezes as he hears the front door opening out in the hallway.

Ryan's back.

Gavin inches towards his closed bedroom door, ducking to peer out the keyhole. He sees Ryan slip inside and lock the door behind him and for a moment the sight of him makes him feel a little breathless. For a moment, a stupid urge overtakes him - to open the door and fling himself into Ryan's arms and hold him, seeking some comfort, some safety. He wonders if Ryan would hug him back, like he did before. Or was that just a fluke - just the other man feeling rattled over Michael being gone?

He shakes himself, angry - _shit like that's what got you into trouble with Michael, you fool. Quit your stupid daydreaming._

"Ryan?" Michael's voice calls out, and Gavin freezes - he hears their bedroom door open, and Ryan step inside.

"Hey. You doing okay? I brought some salve for your stitches to stop it getting infected. Got dinner, too."

"Thanks. I'm glad you're back. We need to talk."

"Where's Gavin?" Ryan asks, but the door shuts behind them before Michael can answer, and Gavin's heart clenches. He has no doubts that he's the subject of that 'we need to talk,' and for a moment he's tempted to inch out into the hallway and stand outside their door. To eavesdrop. At least he'd know. But he shakes off the impulse, and takes a deep breath, trying to prepare himself to go.

For a moment, he doesn't want to move. It would be so easy to put his bag down, and turn off his phone, and crawl into bed and let things play out as they will. To wait, and face whatever the others have to say about all this.

But too many possibilities spring up from that. Clayton coming and breaking their door down, looking for him. The others coming with blank faces to tell him they're sorry, but they don't feel that way, and it's too awkward now, and they can't help him. If he doesn't go now, he never will. It's time to take his own action for once.

He bites his lip, and opens his bedroom door, slipping out of his room as silently as possible. The others won't hear him go; he knows how to move quietly. He's just putting his key into the front door when the others' bedroom door suddenly opens.

"-think we should..."

Ryan's voice trails off, and Gavin stands frozen, heart thundering, scared to turn and see them. He hears footsteps as Michael must exit after Ryan. Hears him pause, too.

"Gavin?" Ryan asks. "Where are you going?"

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut. His key's still in the front door, but he can't bring himself to turn it. He lets his hand fall away from it, but can't turn around. It feels like his heels are rooted deep into the earth. Any chance of leaving has already slipped away. He can't, with the others here now.

"Gavin?" Ryan repeats, his voice a little firmer now. Not angry, but Gavin's shoulders still hunch when he hears the other man step closer towards him, anticipating a rough hand on his shoulder spinning him around - a tight grip around his wrist, a shove or a yank. But no touch comes. "Where are you going?"

"Australia," he blurts out, stupidly, and finally turns. They're both staring at him in shock - still a few steps away from him, Michael close to Ryan with one hand touching his arm. 

"The fuck?" Michael asks, and Gavin bites his lip.

"I mean, eventually - the dry cleaner's first, I need to steal money - then Oregon, then Adelaide. That's the plan, at least. Away from here," he stammers - God, the words aren't coming out properly, and he can see them both starting to frown. "As far as I can, somewhere Clayton can't ever find me-"

"But Gavin, you don't need to run." It's Ryan who speaks, with a gentle concern. He takes another step closer, but stops when he sees Gavin's whole body stiffen. "Not on your own, not like this. We said we'd help you get away from Clayton-"

"I know where the tank is," Gavin cuts in. He's shaking as he says it, afraid to meet their eyes, expecting their anger. "I... I was going to tell you two but he asked first and I didn't know how to lie - he wants me to set a trap for you two, an ambush. I can't do it. I'll tell you where it is and you can get him first. I haven't told him the location yet."

They glance at each other, and Gavin bites at his lip hard enough that he tastes blood.

"Okay, Gavin," Ryan says slowly, "That's great, but you _don't have to run!_ Geoff's on his way here now - we were gonna discuss you joining the Fakes, remember? Out there on your own... it's not safe. Let us help you. Why are you in such a rush to go?"

"You're not mad?" Gavin whispers, and they both blink, looking at each other. A slow realisation dawns on Michael's face; he steps in front of Ryan then, approaching Gavin with hands outstretched, his eyes soft.

"No, Gavin - Jesus, is that what this is all about? What just happened in the sitting room?"

Gavin's shoulders are becoming intimately acquainted with his ears by this point. He hunches back into himself, and Michael hesitates - then slowly takes his arms, tugging gently until Gavin's not curling into himself quite so much.

"Gavin, no one's mad at you," he says, voice calm but leaving no room for argument. "I promise. This doesn't change anything we already had planned. Dear God, I don't... I swear, we are going to help you. We'll keep our word. Doesn't matter what else happens between us - we're getting you out of there."

"But I told Clayton-"

"As if you had a choice to tell him or not." Michael sounds angry now, but not at him. "We're not pissed about that. Plus you just told us about his ambush."

Gavin stares at him, shocked - for a second unable to comprehend that it really is okay, that he doesn't have to flee on his own. Then it feels like something breaks inside him, like a piece of glass shatters leaving nothing but sharp edges and a raw ache, but an overwhelming relief of some pressure suddenly being released; he slumps, tears springing into his eyes, nearly collapsing-

This time it's Ryan who moves forward and catches him, steadying him, pulling him close just like Gavin had imagined he would. He wraps his arms around Ryan's waist and clings to him, desperate to feel safe - to feel wanted - and somehow it's easier with Ryan right now, somehow it's a relief to know the other man cares about him too. He catches Ryan shooting Michael a slightly helpless look, and freezes - but a moment later Ryan's hand is running down his back soothingly, and he's hugging Gavin in return, and his fears melt away.

"Come on," Ryan whispers, "Let's go and sit down and have something to eat. We can talk about this. But you're not leaving, and we're not leaving you."

Gavin nods, but he's unable to move for a moment, and Ryan hugs him closer. A second later Michael steps up by his side, and squeezes Gavin's uninjured shoulder before reaching out and taking his phone from his pocket. It's a relief for someone else to take control of it, and it feels like Michael's lifting away a much larger weight than he really is.

"We'll handle Clayton," Michael says, and takes Gavin's bag next, setting it down on the floor before reaching out to rub his back. "Come on. Let's go. Ryan's brought dinner."

 

* * *

 

Something feels a bit surreal about sitting around in the kitchen after everything that's happened today, eating fish and chips. Gavin doesn't quite know what to think - they haven't really talked much, but after Michael poured him two more drinks it's made him feel like everything's slowed down, like he can pause and stop to think about things without being worried about everything whirling on too-fast around him.

They eat in silence for a little while. Michael and Ryan keep looking at each other. Gavin can't help wondering what they said to one another in the bedroom - they wouldn't have had long to talk about things. He wonders if he's intruding.

After what feels like forever, Michael lays down his fork and looks up. It feels like some silent signal to the others, after a few moments Ryan lifts his head, too, then Gavin sets his plate aside. There's an expectant pause.

"So," Michael says.

No one seems to want to speak first. Michael bites his lip, and Gavin's fists clench under the table. Then Michael reaches out, and takes Ryan's hand. Something in Gavin relaxes a little. He'd been afraid the two of them would be fighting, after hearing what Michael had done.

"I told Ryan what happened," Michael says slowly. "And we kinda need to... well, talk about what happened. About where that... came from."

Gavin feels sick, but he's so exhausted by this point that the nerves have sort of stopped getting in the way.

"I kissed you," he whispers, and sees them glance at each other. Sees Michael's cheeks heat red, and something pass across Ryan's face too quick to discern.

"Yeah," Michael says a bit awkwardly, "That."

"We're not angry," Ryan chimes in quickly - he must see the apprehension return to Gavin's face - "I'm not angry."

But Gavin knows there's something of a lie in that; Ryan doesn't trust easily. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he's scared to. From what Gavin's gathered, being ready to add Ray in was a huge deal for them. He's no idiot - he can tell that the main reason Ryan's so calm right now is because he doesn't want to frighten Gavin, to make him think he's angry with him. Gavin can see it, deep in his eyes. He's not just okay with this. But he doesn't want to say anything, because he doesn't want Ryan to stop. He does appreciate how careful the other man is being. That... means a lot, actually.

"When I did that," he explains, slowly, "I... I wasn't thinking straight. I just sort of did it on impulse. I guess I just got confused, you know - the two of you saved me, and you've been so nice, and no one's really shown me that much kindness before."

He sees the pained look that crosses their faces, and bites his lip.

"I guess I just got overwhelmed, and all sort of mixed up. I didn't mean anything by it, I just... wasn't thinking right. I'm sorry if I made things awkward or if I freaked you out or anything. It won't happen again. I misunderstood what I was feeling - I just... I can't thank you guys enough for all your help. I really, really appreciate it. Like I said, no one's ever really... been there for me before, except maybe Dan, so I didn't really know how to react. I got a stupid idea in my head and acted without thinking."

It's not true.

Not really, or at least, he doesn't think so. He knows there's something not quite right about the way he looks at the two of them, how they make his heart quicken and his skin tingle, how much he longs for their smiles and touches. No amount of telling himself otherwise will change that. He just doesn't want to mess this up.

What he's not prepared for is the almost hurt look that crosses Michael's face - but he seems to force it away quickly. Ryan's face is unreadable, but he looks at Michael and they seem to come to some silent agreement.

"Right," he says then. "Okay."

"Are you sure, Gavin?" Michael begins, but breaks off when Ryan nudges him. "Right, yeah - of course. You know, we can discuss this more later if you want."

"Is there something else to discuss?" Gavin asks, and Michael bites his lip.

"I... I guess not, then."

_You kissed me back_ , Gavin thinks, but doesn't want to say it out loud. After a moment, Michael shakes himself.

"Either way, we have bigger things to focus on, right? Like the tank, and Clayton, and you joining the Fakes. But the most important part is, no one's going anywhere. Okay? You scared me when you tried to leave just now."

"Sorry," Gavin begins, but Michael reaches out and takes his hand instead, over the table. Gavin's breath hitches a little. The others must notice, but they don't comment.

"You don't need to be sorry," Michael says firmly, "I'm just worried that you don't realise something here that I really, really need you to: We're going to help you. No matter what."

"I thought I might've pissed you off," Gavin admits, "Might've fucked things up between you two-"

"You haven't," Ryan insists, and even though Gavin can tell from his voice that there are definitely gonna be some private conversations between him and Michael later on, he knows that right now Ryan's telling the truth. "Believe me, Gavin, you don't need to worry about that."

“And even if something like that did happen,” Michael says, “We wouldn’t punish you by leaving you to Clayton again. You know that, right?”

Gavin looks down. He sees both of them stiffen.

“Gavin?” Michael prompts. When he doesn’t reply, Michael squeezes his hand until he looks up. The other man’s eyes are concerned, but under that there’s something else, sadness. “See, this is exactly what I meant when I said I was worried. Please, Gavin, believe us here - no matter what happens, no matter if we get into a fight or some mistake is made, no matter if a job goes wrong - we aren’t going to hurt you. We aren’t going to abandon you. A promise is a promise, and we promised we’d get you out of there. Even if you did something wrong - not saying you did - we don’t get to hurt you as payback. That’s not how things work, here, not with us.”

It’s how they always worked with Clayton, and even if objectively it makes sense, after a year it’s hard to make himself trust this.

But Michael’s eyes are blazingly earnest again, and when Gavin sneaks a glance at Ryan he’s nodding with the same determined look on his face that he got when he came to save the two of them earlier.

“No one gets to do that to you anymore,” Michael continues, fiercely. “You’re safe now.”

Gavin swallows.

“Before, the last time when you tried to stop me going to see Clayton,” he whispers, “You asked if I trust you.”

They nod. That funny look is back on Ryan’s face and Gavin can recognise it, now. It’s the sort of longing look he had just after he woke up from his fevered nightmares. Like there’s something he wants just within his reach but there’s something stopping him reaching out and taking it. 

“I… I left then because I was scared. I didn’t think you would protect me. But it’s not like that now. I do trust you,” he admits, and ducks his head, and somehow admitting that feels like so much more than just words. “I do. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank us,” Michael begins, but Gavin just shakes his head.

“Please,” he insists, “Let me.”

“It’s okay,” Ryan murmurs, and even if he’s not touching Gavin his smile feels like sunshine against his skin. “You’re welcome.”

Gavin manages a tiny smile back, his first all evening. He sees the way Michael breaks into a wide, relieved grin as well, and for once he doesn’t feel like he’s lying, or just telling them what they want to hear. For once, in this moment, he really does believe it, and it feels like a cage has lifted off him, like finally freedom is again in reach - an open sky above him, the glowing stars ready to guide him home.

_I trust you. I trust you. I trust you_.

There’s a knock at the front door, and Michael gets up, his hand slipping off Gavin’s. Gavin sees the way Ryan’s eyes track the motion, but he still doesn’t look angry, and when Michael gets up from the table, he reaches over and touches Gavin’s arm reassuringly.

“Hey - it’s all going to be okay now. Sounds like Geoff just got here. He’ll sort everything out - don’t you worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Super cool fanmix](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/164046420274/beat-me-till-im-red-blue-and-black-a-playlist) by spnseraphina - thank you so much! <3


	14. Chapter 14

******** **xxiv. night skies**

_The Vagabond's reputation grows. The body count gets higher and higher until Ryan loses track. He comes home every evening to watch blood and paint run down his shower drain, to try and scrub the stink off himself, to avoid looking in the mirror._

_He thinks there aren't lines he’s scared to cross anymore - they all went away when Wendy died. Then one day he takes a hit out on a politician said to be colluding with one of the gangs in AC. Breaks into his office and has a gun to the man's head when he hears a faint whimpering and turns to see the man's seven year old son, clutching his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack in his hands, watching with wide eyes from the doorway with tears streaming down his cheeks._

_For a moment it's like everything around him has been pulled into sharp focus for the first time in years. Like until now everything's been rushing by in a dazed blur but now, now this is a moment of perfect clarity. He can see exactly where he is, and how long it's been, and feel the sharp raw hurt that's still in his chest-_

_And somehow, without turning, he knows she's standing in the doorway behind him. Watching. Waiting._

_(She wouldn't want you to be like this.)_

_He stands there for what feels like hours, though it must only be minutes - the man is babbling, pleading for his life, but it's all white noise to Ryan. His mind's spinning at a hundred miles per hour and he can feel Wendy's eyes boring into the back of his head. Finally he lowers the gun, feeling like he's in a dream, and turns and walks out without looking back._

_That night he stands in the shower until his skin wrinkles and the water's running completely cold. She wouldn't want this, he keeps thinking. He knows that, deep in his heart._

_And_ she's dead _, a cynical part of him thinks._ She doesn't want anything anymore _. But he can feel her standing outside the bathroom door, standing at the end of his bed at night, behind him in every mirror he's scared to look in. Waiting. Watching._

_Geoff Ramsey's been trying to get in contact with him. He's heard about the man and what he does, and he can't tell if the thought comes to him on his own or if she whispers it in his ear - tonight, he might finally call him back-_

"Ryan," Geoff says, when he opens the door.

Ryan stares at him, and while he's sure his face stays carefully blank, inside the relief that wells up at the sight of the other man is nearly overwhelming. It's just one word, just his fucking name, but he can see everything in it. Geoff's concern about what happened to Michael today, his sympathy for what Michael must be feeling, his questioning about why Ryan's called him here now - and his calm determination that whatever happens, they'll fix it.

It's easy to trust Geoff when he sounds like that. Easy to believe that everything will be okay, now.

"Geoff," he whispers, and when Geoff pulls him into a hug he doesn't resist; they're not touchy-feely, usually, but Geoff must know how hard this whole job has been, and it's nice to know someone cares. He hugs Geoff briefly back and when they pull apart Ryan even manages a smile. "I'm glad you're here."

"I should've been here sooner," Geoff replies, genuine regret in his voice. "Should've insisted you guys take some fucking backup. Then Michael might not've got got, and you all wouldn't have been so injured-"

"We told you we could handle it."

"I know," Geoff says, "And I don't doubt it, but I wish I'd put my foot down. How is he?" he adds.

Ryan glances back over his shoulder into the house. All he can see from down the hall is the glow of the living room light. Something in his stomach flutters at the thought of Michael and Gavin waiting in there alone. Together. Sitting side by side. Gavin will be nervous, he knows - he barely trusts them, let alone Geoff who he's hardly met before.

"Michael?" he replies, and bites his lip. "He's had a rough day, but he'll be okay. Think it'll take a bit to sink in that this is all over, now."

"Not quite over," Geoff mutters. "We still need that tank. But I know you're taking care of him."

"Always," Ryan says, and Geoff claps him on the arm.

"And Gavin?" he prompts, and Ryan goes a little stiffer. He told Geoff some of the story over the phone, but not all of it, and Gavin's the real reason that they're here. Not the Lost. Other pieces are falling into place and Geoff needs to be in the loop now. As the trap closes in, they need everybody doing their part. Working together as a crew - as a _team_. Ryan's missed that, as much as he enjoys getting some alone time on missions with Michael.

"Gavin's... rattled," he manages. "Geoff, I told you before it was a contract, but it's not. Gavin told me everything. He's a prisoner of Gemini - they caught him as soon as he landed in America and he's been trapped with them since. I told you already that Clayton... hurts him."

The words feel bitter on his tongue, and he sees the way Geoff's eyes darken in anger, same way they always do when he sees something like this happening in the city - _his_ city. 

"We have to help him," Ryan adds, and something in it comes out too vulnerable. Geoff reaches out and squeezes his arms again.

"I told you, Ryan, no one gets left behind here. We'll help him, I swear it. You've done a good job," he adds, "But I can take over from here."

Ryan nods, relieved. Gavin might not know Geoff well enough to trust him - but Ryan does, and he knows everything will be okay. That he'll fix this, that he'll somehow manage to put Gavin back together and bring him into the family, slowly but surely until he feels like a piece of the puzzle that was never missing at all, until it's hard to think of what life was ever like without him. Just like he did with Michael, once. Just like he did with Ryan.

"Thank you," he says, and Geoff's lips twitch.

"No need to thank me. Caleb!" he adds, a brief bark over his shoulder, and Ryan peers over to find Caleb heading over from where he was taking his time grabbing his medical bag from the boot. 

"Come in then," Ryan says, opening the door wider and ushering them in. "Let's go and see them."

 

* * *

 

Gavin sits stoic and still the entire time Caleb treats the dog bite on his arm. For all his flinching and jumping earlier, it seems like with two strangers in the room he's turned to stone; he barely winces even as Caleb patches him up and gives him two different shots. Still - there's something about how tense he is that makes it clear he's self-conscious. Too aware of all their eyes looking at the bruises and scars that litter his body, the jut of his ribs, the sickly pallor of his skin.

Geoff, though, seems to pick up on his unease, and spends the whole time making smalltalk with Michael and Ryan - flings his suit jacket off, loosens his tie, and starts telling them all about some hair-brained heist that Lindsay's come up with involving gold and a port-a-potty. Ryan can see Gavin drinking in every word, despite his silence - notices the occasional twitch of his lips - and by the time Caleb's packing up and ready to leave, Gavin's shoulders have at least relaxed a little, and he's not looking at Geoff like he's expecting the man to turn on him any second anymore.

Finally they're alone, and as Gavin pulls his shirt back on - grimacing as he tries not to lift his arm too much - the smile fades from Geoff's face and he walks to sit down on the couch.

"Okay then," he says. "Let's get down to business."

Gavin bites his lip. He reaches for his sunglasses only to find they're not there, they haven't been in weeks. Ryan sees Michael notice it too - and then sit next to Gavin on the other couch, reaching out and taking his hand, squeezing reassuringly. Gavin doesn't pull away, but his eyes do dart questioningly to Ryan, who freezes.

_They kissed._

Truth be told, he hasn't stopped thinking about it since Michael told him.

_Here, in this very room, they kissed. And Gavin was lying before, I can tell - it wasn't just on a whim, it wasn't just some silly impulse. It meant something._

His eyes linger on where Michael's fingers are tangled with Gavin's - on the gently concerned look on his face - and his stomach clenches.

It's not that he's angry. He isn't, he couldn't be, or at least not in the ways that people would usually expect. He's not jealous. He doesn't resent what Michael did. It didn't even come as a surprise - they've both seen this coming.

Maybe it's because this job has laid them all bare, maybe it's because they've seen his own suffering, but Gavin's wormed his way into both of their hearts and minds in a way very few people have before. Just each other - and Ray. And something like that is rare enough that when it does come along, it's something to be treasured and protected.

He's just - _scared._

He's terrified, because opening himself up to this means one more person to protect, one more person to be completely fucking terrified of losing - and even if he knows it's too late to pull away now, even if he can't bring himself to make Gavin think he doesn't want him, it's instinct to try and resist, resist, resist.

They need to talk about this, and they will. These last few weeks have been so hard on all of them that he has no idea if it really is clouding their judgement. Hell, they have no idea what Gavin himself needs or wants, and Ryan knows that given what's happened to the other man, they're gonna have to be real fucking careful how they approach that.

But right now all he knows is that he can't step in, he can't take this away from either Michael or Gavin - how could he when the sight of Gavin so antsy makes him want to reach out and comfort the other man, too? 

Gavin looks over at Michael and gives a small, grateful smile. Ryan can see the way Geoff's looking at them, and knows he misses nothing, but the man knows when to keep his mouth shut at least. 

"Gavin," he says, softly, "Ryan told me about your... situation, and his promise holds true for the rest of us. I promise, we're getting you out of there-"

"Why?" Gavin blurts out, and they all freeze. Out of everything he could say in response, that's not what Ryan was expecting.

"Sorry?" Geoff asks, and Gavin gets that deer in the headlights look again - but takes a deep breath, and pushes on.

"Why?" he repeats. "Why would you help me? You don't know me. I - I'm not saying I don't appreciate it," he adds nervously, "And I know I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and you're already doing way more than anyone would expect so I'm really grateful but-"

"Relax, kid," Geoff says, looking quite alarmed. "No one's suggesting you're not grateful. And we're not about to withdraw our help just because you ask a simple question."

Gavin looks startled - then relieved. The way his shoulders slump and some of the frantic lines leave his face makes Ryan's chest ache.

"Thank you," he whispers. "I just... can't help wondering why you're doing all this. No one ever has before, so I... I get worried sometimes. I promise I'll help your crew with whatever you need - there's a reason Gemini's kept you around so long-"

"We're doing this because no one deserves what you've been through," Geoff says, firmly. His eyes are blazing and in that instant Ryan can tell that he's become just as invested in helping Gavin as the rest of them. "Because Clayton is an abusive bully and we're decent fucking people who aren't about to let that shit continue. Doesn't matter what skills you have, what help you can offer us - it's not about that. It's about not standing by while someone gets hurt. And sure, we're not heroes, we're not good people, but we have a code. We have lines we don't cross. And we protect our own. That includes you."

Gavin's eyes are huge - but after a moment he nods, ducking his head, a shy blush creeping over his cheeks. Michael lets go of his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulders instead, and Ryan watches the way Gavin leans into his touch. If he does feel something a little like envy then, it's only because he wishes that he knew for sure Gavin would trust him as much as he does Michael - that he'd be happy to let Ryan do that to him, too.

He doesn't seem to know what to say, but Geoff doesn't push it.

"You spoke to Clayton tonight," he begins, and Gavin nods.

"Yes," he replies, nervously, "And he knows that I know where the tank is. I'm meant to be messaging him the location and then setting up a trap for Michael and Ryan to be ambushed. I haven't told him yet, but he'll be suspicious if I don't let him know where it is pretty damn soon."

"Okay," Geoff says. "That's good."

"It is?" Gavin asks, hesitantly.

"Yeah - or it could be. Does he completely trust you? Has he got any suspicion at all that you might turn against him?" Geoff asks.

There's a long pause as Gavin looks down at his hands. Michael glances up and meets Ryan's eyes, both of them desperately hoping for things to work out, here.

"He trusts me," Gavin says finally, quietly, "Not because I'm loyal to him, but because he wouldn't ever believe I'd dare go against him. He thinks I'm too scared. He thinks he's completely broken me." His lips twist. "To be fair, the last time we encountered each other he beat the shit out of me and I was scared out of my mind, so. I can see why he'd think he's got me under his thumb."

Geoff's face darkens, and even Ryan's fists clench.

_The bug_. Gavin still doesn't know about it, and Ryan has no idea how to tell him. If they even should. He still feels sick when he thinks of that night.

"Well, he doesn't," Geoff says then - and Gavin gives a fierce nod.

"He doesn't. He won't know what hits him."

"Good man." Geoff smiles, and Gavin gives a small smile back, and Ryan loves them both suddenly, can't thank Geoff fucking enough for being so able to put him at ease. "Here's my plan - you give him fake coordinates for the tank, a particular place where I know we'll easily be able to stage an ambush and take out the team he sends to get it. At the same time, you tell him he's gotta hurry and meet Michael and Ryan at whatever location his trap's at, because they're leaving tonight. He'll go there too, I know he will - an asshole like Clayton wouldn't pass up the chance to gloat at being there to see them die. I'll have a team ready and waiting, and we'll spring a trap on him instead. We've just got in a load of heavy firepower. He won't be able to win - or escape."

"Don't kill him yet," Michael grunts. "He has more information on the Harts than anyone else in the city. If they lose their AC territory those bitches won't just roll over and take it."

"You're right," Geoff says. "We capture him if possible."

"I think it'll work, Gavin manages. His eyes are very wide, and Geoff nods.

"Good. We gotta get rid of Gemini once and for all - they've caused trouble in this city for too long. With the tank in our possession we'll have the firepower to drive them out of here- or wipe them out. I'm gonna need you to give me all your info on who else is in charge around here - who might take over if Clayton dies."

Gavin nods, and Geoff leans forward, staring earnestly into his eyes.

"We can't pull this off without you, Gavin. But with your information I have no doubt we'll win. The Fake AH Crew are powerful - more powerful than Gemini. Are you prepared to help?"

Gavin nods. He looks nervous again, fingers twisting together in his lap, and Geoff's face softens.

"Like I said," he adds, "I take care of my own. You'll come back to the base with us tomorrow morning and once we've taken these assholes down, we'll decide where to go from there. The way I see it, you have a few options."

Gavin eyes him warily, but Geoff just continues, voice calm.

"We've been very pleased by your work so far. Not just your skills on jobs, although those are more than impressive. But Ryan and Michael told me about other things - your loyalty. Your compassion. Those are exactly the sort of things I'm looking for in my main crew. You've proven you can work with my people so if you want a place on the Fakes, there's one waiting for you - and I think you'd fit in there very well. The pay's good and we'd provide accommodation, not to mention you'd have flexibility on the type of jobs you get to pull."

Gavin's eyes are wide as saucers. It almost makes Ryan sad, to think that after everything he's been through with Gemini this must sound too good to be true.

"But," Geoff says then, "I wouldn't want to pressure you into thinking you have to switch from working with them to working with us. You have other options. Burnie's interested in you - he runs a huge crime ring that spans a number of other cities in this area. Your work with him would be versatile and you'd have a lot of options about where you want to live or how involved you want to be. I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see Achievement City again after some of the shit you've been through. Alternatively, if you wanted to stay here as a civilian, I can arrange for people to protect you, make sure no one else in this shithole bothers you. Or if you prefer to go overseas, I have contacts who can sort you out with a new identity and set you up with a life wherever you want."

"Holy shit," Gavin whispers, and Geoff smiles kindly, leaning forward.

"No matter what happens, if you get us that tank you'll get a huge Goddamn cut from this job. Clayton might not pay you, but I make sure everyone gets what they deserve. And after this is all done - in return for helping us take down Gemini, I'll set you up wherever you like. Does that sound like a fair deal?"

God fucking bless him, Ryan can't thank him enough for setting up the whole thing like an exchange or a bargain. He's seen enough to know that it'll not only make it a lot easier for Gavin to trust that he'll keep his end of things but also that it'll avoid him feeling needlessly guilty about accepting help. Gavin's face lights up, and he nods. When Geoff holds out a hand, he shakes it easily.

Michael's smiling, and he glances at Ryan again. He manages a smile back, even if his heart is pounding at the thought that this is it, this is really happening - Gavin might be joining them, permanently, and how things will change then-

_Don't get ahead of yourself,_ he scolds himself. _You don't know what he'll choose or what he wants-_

_(Or if he even wants you-)_

_It's unfair to him to make this all about yourselves. Just be glad he won't be in Clayton's grasp anymore. Just be happy about that._

Geoff rises, and turns to look at them.

"Come to the base tomorrow morning," he orders. "Early as you can. We'll figure this out then. Gavin, I'll send you the coordinates to tell Clayton for the tank, and I'll go now to set everything up. Then all of you get some sleep - you look dead as dicks."

Gavin lets out a startled laugh, before covering his mouth with his hand - but Geoff just shoots him an amused, fond glance.

"It's all about to kick off," he says, "And I can't have you exhausted. I'll see you all tomorrow. It was nice to talk to you again, Gavin," he adds, glancing at him, "I look forward to working together more on this."

Gavin gives a shy smile. Then Geoff's heading for the door - Michael hops up to see him out, and Ryan knows they'll probably talk a bit about what happened today. He lets them have their space, turning to Gavin instead.

"All good?" he asks, and Gavin nods.

"Yes! More than good. Geoff's really nice," he adds, shyly, and Ryan smiles.

"He is," he agrees. "I've told you before, I think, but... our crew's different. We're like a family. And the way Geoff runs things is what reined Michael and I in at a time when we really both needed it."

"It's good that you found him."

"It's good that we found you, too," Ryan says, and Gavin ducks his head, smiling again.

The door shuts in the other room as Michael sees Geoff out. In a moment he'll be back in here with them again. Ryan takes the chance to step closer to Gavin while he can, sitting next to him and leaning in. He sees the way the other man tenses, but it's not because he's scared. His tongue darts out nervously to wet his lips.

"Hey," he says gently, "If you want out of this crew business, don't be pressured to stay just for us. I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to get involved in this shit again. If you choose not to join the Fakes, or to leave the city, Geoff will still protect you. I just don't want you to feel like you're obliged to join us just because we've saved you."

From the look on Gavin's face, that was definitely a possibility. But he nods, and Ryan thinks he does get it.

"Thanks," he whispers back. And then - not meeting Ryan's eyes - "Would you want that?"

"Doesn't matter what I want. It's your life."

"But I'd... like to know."

Ryan's chest seizes. It's a funny, pivotal sort of moment that he becomes very acutely aware of. He could push Gavin away right now - gently, of course - he could keep himself safe.

But he knows - he doesn't want that. And he's not about to lie.

"It's selfish," he replies, "But I want you to stay close. At least in Achievement City, even if you don't want to work for us. I don't want to not see you again after all this is over."

Gavin nods. He meets Ryan's eyes for about two seconds before glancing away again. Opens his mouth - God help him, if he says "why" then Ryan's pretty sure he might just explode - but Michael re-enters the room at that moment, and Gavin turns quickly away. Ryan sees the way Michael looks between them, curious. He doesn't comment.

"Geoff's gone to set everything up," he announces. "Gav, I've got the coordinates to give you. Then let's all get the fuck to bed - I'm beat."

"Yeah - yeah," Gavin says, and springs up from beside Ryan a little too quickly. He doesn't mind - his own heart's still pounding, and he stays sitting there, nervous, as he watches the two of them head to the other room together.

 

* * *

 

It's a relief to shut their bedroom door and climb into bed with Michael. It's strange thinking that twenty-four hours ago they were preparing to go out and attack the Lost - today feels like it's stretched on forever. Still - once they're sitting next to each other, tucked in under the blankets, aching from the day's exertions - they don't turn the light off. There's a funny sense of waiting.

"So," Ryan says finally, and he's pleased when Michael laughs.

"So," he replies, and sighs. "Things really went a different direction out there with Gavin trying to flee to fucking Australia, didn't they? He really thought that we might not help him anymore because of what happened-"

"That's why we need to be so careful," Ryan cuts in, and Michael's face drops a little.

"I know," he says, and sinks down further against the pillows. "But I couldn't just push him away, Ryan."

"You're right. I don't think I would have, either." God, it's strange knowing what happened but not having been there to see it. "But we can't leave anything unsaid here. He needs us to be upfront, to let him know what we're thinking - otherwise he'll just assume the worst, you know he will."

"You're right," Michael repeats, and sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry."

"I told you before, you don't need to apologise. He kissed you first and like you said, pushing him away would've done more harm than good-"

"No, that's not - that's not why I kissed him back. I told you that, too."

"Yeah," Ryan says, and looks down. "I know."

He can't avoid thinking about this forever. Ignoring this won't make it go away, and sitting by hoping it resolves itself won't either. But Michael touches his arm then, gently, until he turns to look at him.

"Talk to me," he says softly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Ryan bites his lip. But Michael waits, patiently, rubbing his arm in soothing circular motions, until the words finally come.

"I'm... scared. I'm scared because I want this, too. It feels like it did when we realised we both liked Ray - when we realised we could both have this. If Gavin was the one to kiss you first then there's a chance he feels the same way - but there's also a damn big chance that he's feeling all mixed up. After all the shit he's been through this last year, I wouldn't be surprised."

"I know," Michael murmurs. "And I shouldn't let what I want cloud my judgment. Whatever happens, we're gonna have to take things real damn slow. But Ry - if something does happen - you're okay with this?"

Ryan looks away. He doesn't know what's to say. No, he's not fucking okay with it - he's terrified out of his mind, and he knows it'll just keep giving him nightmares, and this is all only going to make things far more complicated-

But that doesn't mean he doesn't want it. Because _God_ , he wants it. Gavin's a part of their life now, for better or worse, and he'd be lying if he said that he's not excited about the prospect of having him around more. About continuing to grow close and get to know each other.

It's exactly how he felt when Ray started working with them more, and he knows what it means. He might not have known Gavin as long, but the feelings are still there, and Ryan's not one for fleeting, frivolous crushes. They're real. They're deep. They mean something he can't ignore.

"I... don't know," he manages finally, but Michael leans in and looks at him intently.

"Ryan - we haven't talked about this explicitly yet. We really need to. I like Gavin. I think I'd like him to join us, one day, when he's ready. Do you feel the same?"

"I think so," Ryan admits guiltily, "But Michael, after everything that's happened do you really think we're ready to do this? Three is a big step."

"We were ready with Ray," Michael argues.

"Yeah, and look where that fucking got us..." He trails off when he sees Michael's flinch. He hadn't meant to bring that up. They don't talk about Ray much. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But we just need to take things slowly."

"You're right," Michael murmurs. "We need to give it time. But we'll figure this out."

"I can tell you really want this." There's nothing accusing in Ryan's tone, but he sees Michael's cheeks heat anyway, clearly a little embarrassed.

"I do," he says, lifting his chin - then reaches out and cups Ryan's cheek. "And I won't make you admit it yet, but Ryan.... you know pushing him away will only make things worse. If you like him, try and show him, even in little ways."

"I can't promise anything," Ryan says weakly, but shuts his eyes as Michael's thumb strokes across his cheek.

"After all that's happened, Gavin's going to be just as hesitant to trust us. We're all in the same boat here, Ryan. If you didn't care about him, you'd never have noticed something was wrong. We might not have been able to help him. I know you're scared. But more good can come of this than bad."

It's easy to say, but hard to believe - but it's getting late, and Michael looks so earnest, so Ryan smiles and nods at him. If he puts a happy face on he can almost believe it himself. Michael seems pleased, and he reaches out and switches the light off. Darkness falls and they settle down under the warm covers - but some deep part of Ryan is still uneasy.

He nearly lost Michael today.

Things've happened so fast that it's hard to take the time to stop and process everything. But now, even as he curls up with one arm slung over Michael's waist, he still feels shaky and worried, like they're not quite safe yet. It's irrational, but none of this is - the panic he gets when too much time goes on without Michael messaging him, a job running just a little later than expected, the way he's still scared to look in the mirror at night in case he sees Wendy standing behind him. It's not rational, but that doesn't mean it's not scary or painful or real, to him.

And even when he tries to push the thoughts away, a new fear prods at him.

_It's Michael who Gavin kissed. It might just be Michael he wants. After all, Michael's the one who was nice to him, who he knows cares, the one he's clearly more comfortable around. He hasn't said a damn thing about liking_ you.

It's stupid, and he's ashamed for even thinking it - but it's an old fear, one that hasn't risen up in a long time.

_Why would he want you? You're a killer, you're cold, you push people away, it's not at all what he needs right now-_

Horribly, petty insecurities that he shouldn't even be thinking about.

_Focus on getting him safe_ , he tells himself angrily, and hugs Michael tighter. He's starting to feel cold again. _That's the only thing that matters right now._

 

* * *

 

**xxv. open windows**

_Michael doesn't think he'll ever forget his first time walking into the Fake AH Crew's base. Since he moved to Achievement City he's heard a lot about these men - the city's top dogs, the criminals with a code, the kings who rule from the shadows. No one knows where they live, or exactly how much power they have, but everyone knows Ramsey's name, and the heists he's pulling are getting bigger and bigger in scale._

_Michael's worked with a lot of gangs in his time as a freelancer. None of them have been as satisfying as his dealings with Ramsey. For once he doesn't feel like the ashes of the fires he creates stick to him, leaving him filthy and reeking with the remnants of others' consciences, with the crimes he covers up. Murders and betrayals, gang wars and drug deals._

_With Ramsey it's different, and when he steps into the underground system - the base built into the abandoned construction site of an underground train station - he gets a feeling he hasn't had in years, since Kant took him down to that stinking old basement and he looked around at people just like him. A sense of coming home-_

"Holy shit," Gavin breathes.

Michael can't help but chuckle, slinging an arm around the other man's shoulders as he leads him in. Gavin was hanging back, dragging his feet, clearly nervous.

"Bet Gemini didn't know about this, huh?"

"No fucking clue," Gavin says. His eyes are wide as saucers. "Clayton would flip. How big is this place?"

"Huge, dude. We've expanded into all the tunnels. The city is right above us." He looks up at the ceiling; you wouldn't think that five years ago this place was rubble and dust and a hell of a lot of rats. Now things have been set up with soundproof walls, sturdy whitewashed ceilings, floor tiles. You wouldn't even know you were underground. "The police have no idea. No one has any idea. We don't bring many people here."

"And no one ever comes down?"

"It's totally sealed off," Michael says. "The construction was abandoned a long time ago and the entrances down here are hard to find. We have guards dressed as site workers who ward anyone off and twenty-four seven security. It's totally secure."

They're heading through the main entrance areas now towards the inner workings of the base. Gavin presses close by Michael's side. They came a bit later - Ryan left the house early this morning to help Geoff set up their trap for Clayton.

"This is incredible," Gavin says. Then, "It looks like something from Fallout."

"Welcome to the Railroad." Michael grins. "I promise, there's no ghouls down here... well, except maybe the Vagabond."

"He's not a ghoul," Gavin chides, softly.

They've reached the boardroom where they do most of their planning. Before they can go inside, another door opens and Jeremy and Lindsay emerge. They were chatting happily, but they fall silent when they see the other two, and Michael feels Gavin stiffen by his side.

"Oh hey," Jeremy says, covering his surprise quickly. "You're here! Didn't realise you'd arrived yet."

"Ryan came earlier. We were packing up the safehouse," Michael explains. "Gavin, this is Jeremy, and Lindsay. You've seen each other around before, but..."

He trails off, suddenly unsure quite how to introduce them. He doesn't know how much Geoff's told them about the situation, and while he might trust these two with his life, of course Gavin is wary. Even now Michael can see how blank his face has gotten, as closed-off and expressionless as he was right back at the beginning. Of course, now Michael knows it for what it is: a defence mechanism... and a fucking effective one, back when his reputation as the Shadow was all anyone had to go on.

Luckily, Lindsay's face softens and she steps forward.

"Gavin Free - we've heard a lot about your work. Glad to have you on our side now. We haven't worked with a thief on your level before."

Gavin seems awkward. He manages a faint smile, then looks down, totally silent. Lindsay stares at him a bit helplessly, then gives Michael a quizzical glance.

"He's very shy," Michael informs them. He doesn't want to spill Gavin's personal secrets, not if Geoff hasn't mentioned them to the others yet. "But you'll all get to know each other soon enough. Gavin shares your love of cats," he adds, and the way Lindsay's face lights up is so ridiculous that he can't help bursting out laughing.

"Oh my God," Lindsay says then, "I need to show you a video I saw this morning. It's a cat wearing rabbit ears being spoon-fed-"

"Don't distract him," Michael scolds. "We're about to have an important meeting with Geoff!"

Still - he likes the way Gavin smiles, and his shoulders relax a little under Michael's arm. Yes, Michael's already thinking - Lindsay's probably the best person to leave him with later, when the rest of them go off on this job. She'll put him at ease right away. Criminal mastermind she might be, but when you get to know her it's hard to be intimidated - plus Michael knows she's smart enough to pick up on Gavin's unspoken cues and not push him too hard.

"I'll leave you to it then," she says, and smiles at Gavin before heading past them. Jeremy doesn't leave just yet. He's watching Gavin warily, clearly still not a hundred percent trusting of him. Michael's starting to suspect Geoff hasn't told them the whole story of why Gavin was with Gemini in the first place.

He can't blame Jeremy for being uncertain. The younger man was stuck working with some pretty bad crews before he joined the Fakes, without the money to leave them. Nothing on the level of Gemini or the Lost, but shitty enough that Michael knows he doesn't trust easily now.

Still - he's smart enough not to say anything to Gavin's face. Just looks at Michael and asks, "How was the tech I sent you?"

Michael freezes. He'd nearly forgotten the bug was Jeremy's idea in the first place, and they'd told Geoff about what happened with it, but he must not have relayed the information to Jeremy. He'd almost forgotten that it's still there in Gavin's bag. Whether they tell him about it or not will be a whole other issue.

"It worked just like you planned," he manages. "I'll tell you more later. We can trust Gavin," he adds, "Geoff does, and Ryan and I do too. He's not with Gemini."

There's something pointed enough in his voice that Jeremy just nods, trusting Michael to tell him the story later.

"Okay," he says simply, and gives Gavin a nod before walking off.

"He doesn't like me much," Gavin whispers, once he's gone.

"Who, Jeremy?" Michael asks. "Don't worry about it, Gav, he just doesn't know you well yet. Trust me, you'll get on like a house on fire once you get to know each other."

"That sounds a bit exciting," Gavin mutters, and Michael laughs and squeezes him closer.

"I promise," he says, "They'll all love you."

Gavin doesn't look very reassured, but he does lean into Michael's touch. It strikes Michael suddenly that they're alone again, waiting here outside the boardroom door, and Gavin's body is very warm against his, and for a moment he can't stop thinking about the kiss.

He's been trying to push it aside since yesterday, but it's not something you can exactly forget. It popped back into his head the second he saw Gavin this morning, and has been flashing back into his mind ever since.

God, he doesn't know what to do.

He'd been shocked, of course, never expecting Gavin to make the first move. But the second their lips touched and it struck him that this could be something, that Gavin might actually want him too - the funny almost-hunger that had consumed him had been startling in its intensity.

It's only proven just how far he's fallen, how much he wants this, and staring at Gavin now - he can see the way the other man's looking at him, like he's scared but completely trusts Michael to take care of him here in what would once have been the heart of his enemies' base. It makes something fond and protective and far too intense swell in his chest.

He wants to ask Gavin more about it - question if he really does just think he was confused and not thinking straight - but he's scared to push too hard, and instead he smiles and nudges the other man teasingly.

"You won Ryan and I over, didn't you?" he points out. "And we're probably the meanest out of everyone here."

"Michael, you're not mean, Michael."

"I can be."

"No, you're lovely," Gavin insists, and Michael has to laugh, but there's something in the way Gavin says it that makes his heart flutter happily.

"Then I promise the others are even lovelier once you get to know them. Jack and Mica are out on a job but you'll see them later tonight. For now, let's get down to business."

He pushes open the board room door and leads Gavin in. Ryan and Geoff look up from where they were huddled over a map on the other side of the table. Ryan's dressed to kill, literally, he's already suited up in body armour with his face painted. But his mask isn't on, and they can see his smile as they walk over.

"Hey guys," Geoff says, and nods at Gavin. "Gavin, what do you think of our base?"

"It's incredible," Gavin replies. "I can see why no one's ever found it before. It's weird to think you've been right under our feet this whole time."

He seems less shy around Geoff today, and Michael's pleased. Geoff nods, but gets quickly back to business.

"We acquired the tank last night. The rest of the Lost are dead. We took out the mercs Clayton sent to the false location and we put some of our own on their comms. He thinks he's got the tank and that they're moving it across the country now."

"Good," Michael says - he saw some of the texts Clayton sent Gavin earlier, and the way he went off about how late the information had come made his blood boil. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants nothing more than to rip the man apart with his bare hands.

"He thinks you and Ryan are going at dawn to get the tank," Geoff continues. "Gavin, in a minute I'll get you to message him saying that they've just left the house. Then we'll leave to get the ambush ready."

Gavin bites his lip.

"He might order me back to base right away," he says softly. "If I don't show up someone might tell him and he could get suspicious."

"Tell him you're about to sneak out because you're scared Ryan and Michael are plotting to kill you. If there's radio silence after that he'll assume you got got. Hell, it'd give you an excuse to lay low here for a bit while we deal with the rest of Gemini."

Gavin nods. Michael jokingly points a finger gun at him.

"Bang," he says, not too loudly, and Gavin giggles a bit. Still - Michael can tell he's still nervous. He can't even imagine how terrifying this must be; after Gemini's held him prisoner for so long, to finally see them about to be taken out must be incredible. He knows Gavin's probably scared this won't work, doesn't want to get his hopes up. But Michael's determined - they're gonna make this right.

"Anything we should know before we go in?" Geoff asks.

"They favour automatic pistols. There's one merc, a sniper, who's got cop-killer bullets. Body armour will be useless against him. He's at every meeting Clayton goes to. Probably already hiding in the building in a loft that overlooks the main warehouse area." He points on the blueprint he drew up for them last night. "Take him out before Clayton even gets there and you can take his vantage point. You should be good to go after that."

Geoff nods, exchanging a pleased look with Ryan. Having someone who knows all the intel before they even go in is a huge advantage, especially on a job like this when their last-minute planning actually somewhat gives them the advantage of surprise.

“Excellent. We’ll leave in ten minutes, then.”

He gets up and walks out, and Gavin glances after him, biting his lip.

“You sure I shouldn’t be coming along?” he asks quietly.

“Of course not,” Michael says, instantly. “You’ve done the work planning this for us. There’s no need for you to be in the middle of whatever shit’s about to go down. We’ll deal with this, Gav - it’s in our hands now. You did good.”

Gavin smiles a bit, but he seems nervous. Michael’s about to reach out to him, but before he can Ryan’s already striding around the side of the table.

“We don't want you to have to go anywhere near Clayton ever again,” he says, fiercely. “You saw what I did to the Lost when they took Michael. Neither of us will let Gemini get away with what they've done to you either.”

“I appreciate that,” Gavin whispers back. “But kill them quickly. It doesn't need to be bloody or - or gruesome.”

It's a surprisingly compassionate statement, and one that makes Michael a bit uncomfortable - makes his fantasies of tearing Clayton's eyes and tongue out seen suddenly far too close to what he saw in that barn yesterday.

Ryan looks shocked - but then he nods.

“Of course, Gav. Whatever you want.”

He hesitates - then reaches out and squeezes Gavin's arm. Michael can't help but smile a little. After last night he was worried about how Ryan would cope with all this, so it's nice to see him being the one to reach out. It means more than most people would think.

“Stay safe out there,” Gavin says, reaching up and tentatively touching Ryan’s hand.

“We’ll be fine,” Michael promises, with a fierce grin. “Trust me, Clayton’s not a match for us.”

“He can be worse than you think.” Michael hates the pinched, fearful look on his face. “He’s the sort of guy who’ll do whatever it takes to come out on top.”

“And we’re the sort of guys who’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people we care about,” Ryan says.

Gavin’s eyes widen - then the smile he breaks into is so brilliant that Michael thinks he’d do anything to keep that look on his face. 

“Thanks,” he says, and Michael moves forward to loop an arm through his.

“Come on,” he says. “Send Clayton that message then I’ll take you to Lindsay. She’ll show you around, get you set up with a room here - the works.”

Gavin nods. His arm comes up around Michael’s back like he wants to hug him, but falls a moment later, unsure. After what happened yesterday, Michael can’t blame him - but it still makes his heart skip a beat, and fuels his resolve to fix this whole fucking situation so that Gavin can start putting his fears in the past, just like all the rest of them.

 

* * *

 

“I love you,” says Ryan.

“I love you too,” Michael replies.

They lean in to kiss. Ryan’s lips taste like paint and he’s only pulled his mask up far enough to reveal the bottom half of his face. Still - it’s all routine, feels like some sort of good luck charm that’s never failed them so far, and Michael feels something in him settle as they pull apart.

Despite their confident words to Gavin, after yesterday Michael’s shaken up about going in. He’s still sore and aching from his injuries - bruises always hurt more the next day - and while he didn’t dream of Dodger like he’d feared, since this morning it keeps popping into his head. What it felt like to drive the knife in. The warm stickiness of the blood. The look in Dodger’s eyes as he realised what was happening.

It’s rattled him more than he likes to admit, and he knows at some point it’s all going to come bursting out-

But he’s not passing up this chance to take out Clayton. He’s pushed on through worse, and he takes a deep breath and reaches to tug Ryan’s mask down before grabbing his gun and striding in.

The warehouse is more of a large storage room; there’s one central space with a few rooms leading off it. Inside it’s dark - but not so dark that they can’t immediately tell that the tank isn’t there.

“Easy now,” Geoff whispers in his ear. “Spring them and then we’ll come in. They can’t know we’re onto them yet.”

“Hello?” Michael calls out. “Your friends are dead. The Lost are finished. Surrender now and we might let you live.”

They reach the very centre of the room - and a sudden whirring, zipping sound breaks the silence. Their guns rise - and something falls from the ceiling too fast for them to react, sending them both toppling to the ground. It’s a weighted net of thick rope that pins them both to the ground, tangling around them when they try to get up, too large for them to crawl out from.

“Shit!” Michael yells, and a familiar, cruel laugh echoes out around the space.

“The Vagabond and Mogar! Quite a catch. Good luck untangling yourselves from this one.”

“How fucking long has he been sitting on that line?” Michael mutters, and Ryan gives a low chuckle next to him.

“You won’t be laughing in a minute.” Clayton steps from the shadows around the edge of the warehouse, flanked by two dozen men. Michael’s heart quickens - but over the comm he can hear Geoff organising their own men, preparing them to go in. It’s a comfort knowing they’re coming, that technically everything is going according to plan. “You really thought we’d give you the tank that easily?”

“We had a deal,” Michael says. It’s not hard feigning anger - he hates Clayton, just for other reasons.

“We had a deal until you dumped all my fucking drugs at the bottom of the lake. If Gemini doesn’t get its cut, the Fakes don’t either.”

“That wasn’t our fault!”

“Sure it wasn’t. Either way, did you really think we’d just hand over something as powerful as this tank? Not fucking likely.” He steps closer to them, and in the light Michael’s urge to punch him only grows; his stupid soft face, his watery eyes, that obnoxious hair. The way he’s grinning, so fucking smug - he really does think he has them in the bag here. Well, the net.

He tries to sit up, but can’t. The net’s pinning them down and every time he moves it tangles further in his clothes and hair. He can’t lift it enough to get his arm out from under him - he landed face-down; Ryan’s on his back next to him.

“But first things first,” Clayton says, “Before I kill you horribly and leave the bodies for Ramsey to find - oh, don’t bother with that,” he says, when Ryan must struggle to lift his gun. Michael can’t really see from this angle. Clayton steps forward, foot coming down hard - Ryan grunts in pain, and Michael’s blood boils.

“We’re close,” Geoff whispers. “In a minute-”

“Where the fuck is my thief?” Clayton continues, angrily. “I got a very concerning text from Gavin and I can’t help but notice he isn’t here with you - or back at the base where I ordered him to be.”

“You’ll never see Free again,” Michael spits, with far too much satisfaction.

Clayton’s face clouds over - but before he can say anything, a hail of gunfire rings out behind them, and suddenly Gemini’s mercs are dropping left and right. Michael hears Geoff’s men charge in - he’s curled up in a ball to protect himself. A stray bullet skims across his back but the body armour keeps it from doing any damage; it wasn’t at an angle to hit him directly, anyway.

Clayton’s roar of outrage is honestly music to his _fucking_ ears. 

“Shoot them!” he yells. “Eric, shoot them!”

But his sniper is long dead, and Geoff and the others are surrounding them from all sides, taking them down before they so much as have a chance to raise their weapons. 

Michael wrestles his knife from his belt. A body falls heavily onto the net and he grunts in pain as it slams onto his back, a dead-weight that he struggles to squirm out from under. The man is still groaning and moving weakly, and as soon as his arm’s free Michael reaches out and knifes him in the ribs. He falls still and Michael rolls over and starts sawing at the ropes. 

“Knife’s not much good!” he yells.

“Your lighter,” Ryan contributes next to him, and Michael’s eyes light up.

He never travels anywhere without one - you never know when a good fire’s in order, after all - and he digs it from his pocket and lights it up. 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes - it burns easily through the rope and within moments he’s able to break enough of them to get himself free. He turns and gets Ryan out too - he can already see that only a few of Gemini are left standing, and they’re distracted firing back at Geoff and his men.

“Thanks,” Ryan says, as he finally clambers free. Michael nods, pulling his gun - he turns to look for Clayton and finds him backing away towards one of the side exits. He’s firing wildly, but as Michael watches his gun clicks emptily and he throws it on the ground with a curse before turning and sprinting for the door.

“Not so fast, bitch!” Michael yells, and sprints after him. He fires and his bullet catches Clayton in the leg; he stumbles with a yell and Michael tackles him to the ground. They both fall with a grunt, the wind knocked out of them, and Clayton rolls over.

His elbow smashes into Michael’s face and he falls sideways with a grunt. Clayton goes for his gun, but Michael gets a leg up and kicks him over again.

_You can’t kill him._ The knowledge that they need his intel is the only thing stopping him putting a bullet in Clayton’s gut right this fucking second. Instead he straddles the fallen man and strikes him across the face with the butt of the gun, and again, and again, watching his skin split and blood run down his face, his jaw swell-

“Fuck you,” Clayton chokes out, and manages to get a knee up. It hits Michael in the stomach - right where he got cut yesterday, right where his stitches are still tender and swollen, and for a moment the pain is completely blinding. He falls back, breathless, and sees Clayton struggle upright-

But Ryan’s reached them now, and he charges in and kicks Clayton back to the ground. He’s the one who stamps on him now, ribs snapping under the heel of his boot, raining heavy blows down on the other man until he finally curls in on himself and can only lie, grunting. With his mask on Ryan looks calm and expressionless, but Michael knows that underneath he must be breathing heavily, must be finding this whole thing real fucking cathartic.

He manages to clamber to his feet, clutching his stomach. His shirt feels wet and he knows his stitches have torn, but the wound wasn’t so serious that he’s worried about it. Finally Ryan falls still, chest heaving, and Michael comes up by his side and looks down at Clayton - curled up in a ball, bleeding heavily, breathing in ragged, wheezing gasps.

The warehouse is very silent. Michael knows they’ve won. Geoff comes up by their side then, smelling of gunpowder.

“Sup, Clayton,” he says, and Michael snorts, turning away.

Clayton’s head lifts. One eye is swollen shut, a few teeth are missing, and the lower half of his face is caked in dried blood.

“Gavin,” he croaks. “I knew he was acting weird last night. That fucking traitorous little bitch-“

He breaks off as Geoff crouches to grab his hair and slams his head against the ground, knocking him out. 

“Asshole,” he says flatly, and turns to look at them before giving a tired smile. “Job well fucking done. Let’s go home, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Awesome comic for the story by DNDS](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/164363768034/dnds-neverland-gavin-drawn-to-the-blood-by) \- thank you so much!! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**xxvi. first impressions**

_Michael hears about the Vagabond long before he meets him. The whole damn country must know the name - his kills make headlines and the world is desperate to figure out the identity of the masked mercenary who’s quickly becoming one of the most feared men in the country. Even if he only kills criminals, even if he has no record of other crimes, the path he’s making down the East coast has each city trembling when it’s reported he’s arrived within their streets._

_And then he comes to Achievement City._

_And then Geoff fucking hires him._

_“This is a bad idea,” Michael tells him, voice very stiff - Geoff doesn’t know much about Michael’s past, won’t understand why the news headlines, the leaked crime scene photos of blood and offal, make his stomach churn and his heart beat too fast and childhood nightmares claw their way back to the surface of his mind. “He’s violent, he’s volatile - he’s not like us.”_

_“With Gemini moving into this city we need manpower,” Geoff replies. “Intel says he only takes select jobs. The sort we’d take, too. I figure it’s worth at least trying him out - and he’s headed our way anyway. Better we get him than Gemini. Is there a problem?”_

_He looks up, and Michael wants to tell him everything- but he can’t, not yet, and he doesn’t want to lose what they’ve got here either, so he shakes his head._

_“No problem at all,” he says, but he feels sick, and he feels even sicker when he first sees that blank-eyed black skull mask and thinks of the man inside, of the things he does, and wonders if he’s the Vagabond just like Michael was Hook and Benjie was Dodger, if he has the same damned spots on his hands-_

"I trust you can get him to talk."

The Fake AH Crew's interrogation room is built just like the police cells that all of them have found themselves in at one time or another; harsh fluorescent lighting, soundproof walls, a two-way mirror looking into the room. Michael stands with Ryan and Geoff on the other side of the glass, in the narrow observation room - arms folded, scowling.

Clayton's handcuffed to a chair in the middle of the interrogation room. He woke up ten minutes ago and spent a while fruitlessly trying to free himself. Now he sits, slumped and scowling - his face so swollen and bloody that his whole head looks like an overripe grape. Helpless and at their disposal.

Good fucking riddance.

They scanned him for trackers, but there are none. Right now, the Harts should have no fucking clue that their operations here in AC have pretty much just imploded, because there is no fucking way that Clayton is leaving that room alive.

"Of course," Ryan replies, darkly. He's taken his mask off, but he looks just as fearsome with his face painted, and somehow his wispy, dishevelled hair only adds to the effect. He pulls one of the knives from his belt and lays it on the sill of the observation window. "Not to toot my own horn, but I'm rather good at it."

Michael grins, too - but there's a churning in his gut and even if he wants nothing more than to head in there and smash Clayton's teeth in some more - something feels wrong about it. About everything.

He keeps thinking of the barn, of how it felt for his knees to grow sticky and warm with blood - how the pitchfork felt driving into the man's shoulder. He doesn't know if Ryan's told Geoff what happened to their old police contact yet. Michael's sure not about to bring it up. He just - doesn't want to think about it anymore.

But Geoff's already nodding, gazing at Clayton with steely eyes.

"Good. We need to know everything that Gemini's got in this city. Safehouses, resources, contacts - the lot of it. Not a stone unturned, you hear me?”

"Oh, don't worry," Ryan assures him, and grins. Michael can't tell if it's his paint smudging or if his teeth are a little bloody from where Clayton hit him earlier. "I will be exceedingly thorough."

Geoff nods. He doesn't need to ask more - the Vagabond's got a reputation for getting information out of people. Michael's seen Ryan's work firsthand and never quite knows what to think of it; he doesn't take joy in interrogations. Not usually. Back when the Vagabond was at the peak of his career he'd been known for his detached efficiency. But this is different, _Clayton_ is different, and when Geoff leaves the room Michael suddenly feels a little lost.

"Hard to believe we've finally got him," he says, but more for the sake of breaking the silence than anything.

Ryan looks up at him from where he was turning the knife over in his hands.

"You don't have to be here," he says, cutting straight through all the bullshit. Michael gives a faint smile - it's nice to know that Ryan can still pick up right away on what's causing the problem. It's like the other man can feel the sick throbbing in his heart, the way panic is flitting around in the pit of his ribcage like a trapped moth.

"I don't, but I will. I'll help you-"

"That's not a good idea, Michael. Not after all this business with the Lost." Ryan sets the knife down and steps toward him. "The last thing you need is to be part of more blood and violence."

Michael bites his lip and looks away. He knows Ryan's right. He knows that even now the thought of what's about to happen makes him feel sick in a way that nothing has in a long time. He knows that he usually tries to keep his own kills quick and he rarely participates in this side of things.

But for some reason, he can't move. He doesn't know why.

"I already killed Dodger," he says.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ryan asks, frowning.

Michael shrugs, hunching his shoulders up. He barely knows himself, except that maybe there's already blood on his hands and even more won't matter - that maybe he's already proven himself a traitor, a killer, so why stop there? Or maybe he just hates Clayton, maybe for once he wants someone who deserves it to suffer.

"Michael," Ryan says gently, and puts his hands on his shoulders. "I don't want you to see this. You did your part taking him down, just like Gav did his part getting us the intel. Leave the dirty work to me, now - that's _my_ role. You've got your own part to play. Go burn all traces of the Fakes' involvement in this. It'll buy us some time when the Harts inevitably come looking, and keep the police off our backs. Then you need to find somewhere to hide the tank. That's what you're good at. That's what you do now. Not any of the rest of this shit."

"I was good at this once, too-"

"But not now," Ryan cuts in, leaving no room for argument. "You know I'm right. Please - trust me on this one."

Michael takes a shaky breath. But he nods, and it's like a weight's lifted off his shoulders. When Ryan pulls him into a hug, he squeezes him back tightly, even if it makes his wounds ache and some paint smudges on his shirt. 

_Guilt_ , he realises. He recognises it now, that funny sort of sinking feeling he used to get as a kid - _shame_ , after each person he killed. _Dread_ , whenever they headed out on a job for more. He thought he'd burned it all away with the Fakes, but here it is again.

Once he might have pushed through and made himself do it - seen it as some sort of punishment, or just part of what he is now - but he's not a kid any more. He's grown, he's no longer scared, he has Ryan here with him, warm hands gripping his arms firmly. He's strong enough to tell himself _no. You don't need to do it._

He nods again, and Ryan claps him on the shoulder.

"Don't go easy on him," Michael manages, glancing through the window at Clayton, sitting with his eyes shut and jaw clenched grimly in pain.

"Of course not."

"You gonna enjoy this?"

He sees the way Ryan's face tightens, just a little.

"In a way," he replies slowly. "Not the act of causing pain but... the retribution. He deserves to suffer."

"I agree," Michael says, and bites his lip again. "Does that make us sick?"

"After everything he's done?" Ryan scoffs. "Not a chance."

That's all Michael needs to hear. Because from the very first time they met what captured him about Ryan was that despite his reputation, despite everything, he'd never seemed like any of Kant's people, like any of the brutes Michael had run into far too many times. If Ryan can hurt a man into talking, can wrench secrets from someone tooth by tooth, but can still be so essentially himself - gentle Ryan, kind Ryan, Ryan who cares more passionately for others than anyone else Michael knows, no matter how much distance he tries to keep...

If he can be that, then Michael can be, too. The blood won't stick to him, not the way it used to, and he doesn't feel quite so sick as he turns to leave.

 

* * *

 

Gavin is in one of the guest quarters. Most of them don't actually live here at the base - Michael's got his own apartment, Ryan too, and Geoff's the only one permanently stationed here. But they work late often enough that they each have their own spaces here in the base, and Gavin's is just down the hall from Ryan's and Michael's.

It's a tiny space, a bare little living room leading out to a tiny ensuite bathroom and bedroom. But the walls are painted a calming pastel blue, and the carpet is soft, and the insulation in the walls combined with being underground means that it's warm despite the winter cold.

Gavin's curled up on one end of the bed. He called out for Michael to come in when he knocked on the door - he hadn't wanted to barge in, like back at the safe house, and _God_ he cringes to remember some of the shit he did back at the start - _let him have his privacy if he needs it, let him know that this room's safe, is only his_. He doesn't look like he was sleeping, but Michael stops in his tracks anyway. He'd almost think Gavin had been crying; his face is flushed and his eyes red. When Michael glances around the room he notices that Gavin's bag is against the wall close to the door, and everything else is untouched - the water bottle and tissues he knows Geoff put in here for him, all the basic toiletries stacked on the table by the side of the room. It's like he came in here and climbed straight into bed, one single corner of the bedsheets the only thing he touched.

"Gav?" he says quietly, inching forward. "What's the matter?"

"What?" Gavin asks. His voice is soft, a little dull - but he still smiles when Michael comes over to him. "Nothing's the matter."

"You look... upset," Michael ventures. "Can I sit with you?"

Gavin nods, scooting over. His shoes are laid neatly by the side of the bed, and Michael toes his off to join them. He tries to ignore the dried blood on them from the shootout back in the warehouse, and climbs in next to Gavin.

After what happened between them earlier, he's a bit more wary of touching Gavin than he used to be - a little worried that he might give him the wrong idea, or seem like he's pushing. But when he notices how hesitant and awkward Gavin seems - sitting stiffly upright, careful that his shoulder doesn't so much as bump Michael's - he realises the sort of fucking stalemate they're about to get themselves into if they both stick to that, and like hell he's gonna let that happen.

He extends an arm, careful to make it an offering rather than a demand, and Gavin's face softens. He inches closer to Michael and curls up against his side. Michael pulls him closer, letting Gavin's head rest against his shoulder.

"This okay?"

Gavin nods, and nestles against his side. Somehow his warmth, his weight, comforts Michael as easily as Ryan's touch can, and he finds the last of his unease disappearing, focusing instead on how he can feel Gavin breathing against his shoulder.

"I heard you guys brought Clayton back," Gavin says, abruptly.

"Yeah," Michael replies. "He has the most information on Gemini, and he can tell us a lot about the Harts."

"So he's here right now." Gavin sounds calm, at least, but Michael knows that doesn't necessarily mean much. "Is he injured?"

"Nothing permanent... yet. Ryan and I both beat him up back at the warehouse. He put up a hell of a fight," he adds, rubbing his stomach ruefully, "But like I told you. No match for us."

Gavin smiles, but it quickly fades.

"I'm glad you two are safe," he says. "And I'm glad that the Lost and Gemini are both just about done with. Everything kept going wrong, again and again for so long... sometimes I keep having to remind myself that it's all getting better now."

"You can say that again." Michael's so used to their plans failing that he keeps getting sudden little jolts like there's something they should be working on, only to realise that it's over. It's finally fucking _over._

"What will you do with Clayton?" Gavin asks then, not looking at him.

"Ryan's down in the interrogation rooms with him now. He'll get answers out of him - he always does, somehow. After that, we'll probably kill him. Burn the body."

Gavin's very quiet, and after a moment Michael gives him a gentle nod.

"You okay with all that?" he asks, and Gavin bites his lip and looks at him. That haunted look is back in his eyes.

"I suppose so," he says, and curls in on himself further. "I just - I feel all mixed up."

"About Clayton?"

"About everything. I should be happy, right? That he's being hurt now after everything he did to me. Getting a taste of his own bloody medicine and all that. I should be overjoyed. But I just feel kind of sick thinking about him - about any of it."

"It's all in the past now," Michael ventures. He's not always good at finding the words but right now, these feel right. "It always hurts at first, when the wound's still fresh. But over time things get better. Not perfect, but better."

Gavin nods, but he doesn't seem convinced.

"But right now," he insists. "I should go down there, right? I should go and see him. Confront him."

"No," Michael says, catching his wrist when he sits up a bit. He lets go almost immediately, but it was enough to make Gavin pause. "You don't have to do that."

"I should-"

"Says who?" Michael demands. "You should do whatever _you_ feel comfortable with. Whatever helps. And maybe I'm wrong but I don't think seeing Clayton would help you at all right now. Would probably just make you feel even worse. What would you be trying to get out of it?"

Gavin's shoulders hunch miserably.

"I don't even know," he admitted. "Just... it feels like the sort of thing someone should do, right? Face their fears and go to watch their tormenter suffer. Take pleasure in the vengeance. It might make me feel like I'm washing my hands of it, like things have finally balanced out again."

"Or it might make you feel awful. It might be a reminder of your own pain. You might feel guilty afterwards and then hate yourself for it. This shit, Gav - what's happened to you, and me, and Ryan, it's different for each one of us, but one thing's the same. It's not rational. There's no right or wrong way to go about it."

"I know..."

"So tell me, right now - regardless of the reasons why you should or shouldn't - do you _want_ to see him?"

"No." Gavin doesn't even hesitate before saying it, and Michael nods.

"Right - and honestly, I don't think it would help you at this point to rush down there. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week if he's still around, maybe never. But right now, literally the day after you finally made it here to our base with us?  I think it would only rattle you even more. Don’t push yourself, Gavin. You don’t need to. We have all the time in the world, now, even if it’s hard to make yourself see it. Trust _me_ on this one.”

Gavin seems to think about it for a moment - but then he nods, and something in him relaxes - all the tension leaving his body as he goes boneless against Michael’s side until it feels like they’re moulded together. Michael feels himself smile. At this angle it would be so easy to lean in and kiss the top of Gavin’s head, but he forces himself to refrain.

_Not now. Don’t fuck this up even more._

“Thanks Michael,” Gavin murmurs eventually. “That helps, it really does. I… I’m not thinking right at the moment, but _you_ make sense.”

“All good, Gavvy,” Michael says, but feels a bit nervous - if the other man’s gonna listen to everything he says, he’d better be fucking careful what advice he gives. But this - this he knows is the right choice. Ryan knew Michael shouldn’t be in that interrogation room, and he knows with absolute certainty that Gavin shouldn’t be, either.

For a little while they sit in silence. Michael knows he has work to do, but he doesn’t want to move. The exhaustion of the last few weeks is finally catching up to him and the soothing lull of Gavin’s breathing makes him drowsy. But finally Gavin shifts, and speaks, and his words jolt Michael right back to attention.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Michael says, without thinking about it.

“Are you still thinking about it? Killing Dodger, I mean. Is it still… still something on your conscience?”

Michael hesitates. God, he’s just been trying not to think about it. _Conscience-_ now there’s a loaded fucking word. But it’s Gavin, Gavin staring at him so earnestly, Gavin who needs _answers_. For him, Michael closes his eyes and tries to put his thoughts into words.

“It is,” he admits. “I don’t regret it, but I still keep thinking about it. It’s the sort of blood I never wanted to have on my hands again, but here it is. I’m struggling to keep myself from thinking that I really am… what they said I was.” _Monster, killer, Hook_. “I know I’ll be thinking about it a long time. And I… I miss him, too. It feels like I should be grieving. I guess I sort of am. It’s stupid, because until all this shit happened i hadn’t thought about him in years. Whether he was alive or dead, it didn’t matter to me. And even now it’s not like we properly reconnected.”

“He was important to you once,” Gavin murmurs. “That never goes away.”

Michael nods - but it’s Ray who swims into his mind, then, and he feels a sudden pang that he can’t quite force away. Then, a moment later, looks down at Gavin, and feels again that burning longing.

_You’re important to me, too. More important than I can say_. But he can’t say it out loud, isn’t sure what it would mean for them, and instead takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “But this crew, this family, is even more important. You met them all just now, yeah? You’re gonna fit right in.”

Gavin catches on to the forced cheer in his voice, of course he does. He’s not stupid. He nods, and drops the other subject.

“Yes! Lindsay showed me around. The base is bloody amazing, I still can’t quite believe the scale of it. I met Mica - she was lovely - and talked to Jack a bit more. He was very nice to me. They showed me the support room and all the work they’re doing - God, the network of cameras you lot set up is amazing. You’ve got watch of practically the entire city. It’s no wonder Ramsey’s in control - even more so than Gemini ever thought.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Michael says warmly. “And that they were nice to you. I promise, Gav, if you decide to stay I think you’ll love it here.”

Gavin smiles a bit shyly, and Michael - completely avoiding the urge to do any sort of work now - instead launches into the tales of their adventures. Not just the heists or the hits, though the more creative of these feature, too. But he talks about the other things, too.

He tells Gavin about the barbeques Geoff will hold at his mansion in the outskirts of the city - how they’ll all go over and have a sunny day by the poolside with sausages and steaks, how they’ll play rowdy games of water volleyball and dare each other to do stupid things like jump off the roof into the pool.

He tells him about how Jeremy and Lindsay come over to his apartment with Ryan sometimes and all four of them will stay up most of the night playing video games. How after long heists or close calls they sometimes all sleep back at the base, huddled on the couches in the common room, reassuring themselves that everyone’s still here. About how Jack organises fishing trips and Mica goes to conventions in disguise and even Ryan is comfortable taking his mask off around them.

The more he speaks the more excited he starts to get that Gavin’s gonna see all this, have all this - _if he stays_ , he reminds himself, and forces his racing mind to slow down a little. _Don’t get ahead of yourself. He hasn’t decided yet._

But Gavin’s smiling a little when Michael finally stops talking.

“That sounds fantastic,” he says, and looks away. “I… I had a friend, back at school. I think I mentioned him a few times.”

“Dan?” Michael says, and Gavin looks surprised - then pleased.

“Oh! You remembered. Yep, Dan - we went to high school together. He… he was the only person who ever stuck up for me against the bullies. He got a lot of shit for it, too, but he never cared. I always thought one day he'd realise it wasn't worth it and just leave me alone to deal with it myself - but he didn't."

"I like him already," Michael declares, and likes the sound of Gavin's giggle.

"We were really close friends. The two of us against the world. Had a lot of good times together - I think I told you some of the stories of the things we got up to at school - and even after we graduated we stuck together. We got into gangs around the same time. I think, those few years I was in England between graduating and coming here... that was the only time I felt perfectly happy. I was free, I had friends, for once I felt like I was making something of myself. Dan was a big part of that. Even just the simple stuff, like having someone to text at three in the morning if I'd had a bad dream - someone to go out drinking with - someone who'd send me funny stories or pictures... it's that little shit that means something, you know? That makes us human." He looks down, picking at the edge of the blankets, and his lips give an embarrassed quirk. "Sorry. That got real deep-"

"No, you're right." Michael's arm wraps tighter around his shoulders. "When did you last talk to him?"

"God, not for over a year. Clayton barely let me talk to people outside the crew - there's no way he'd've let me contact someone outside the bloody country."

Another flash of hot anger shoots through Michael's body. He hopes Ryan's hurting Clayton real bad right now.

"Well, Geoff will set you right up with that tomorrow - hell, tonight if you want," he says, and another surprised look crosses Gavin's face before he smiles again. But Michael sees the way his face flushes and tears well in his eyes. Before he can comment, worried, Gavin swipes them away.

"You asked if I was okay when you came in. I... I got kinda upset before. Nothing's wrong," he adds hurriedly, when he looks at Michael and must see the worry in his face. "Everything's good. Everything's _so_ good. Just - what I was saying before, with Dan, I... I haven't felt like that in a really long time. Like anyone cares about me. Like I _matter._ I was telling you before I hate being called the Shadow - Clayton didn't treat me like a person. No one did."

"Gavin..."

Michael's stomach's clenching, but Gavin takes a shaky breath and his next smile lasts longer.

"But now you're all being so _nice_ and I... I don't know why it made me feel upset. Just overwhelmed I guess. I… I sort of thought, in the last few weeks before I got out of that base and went to stay with you, that maybe I never was getting out of there. The hope of escaping kept me going for a long time, but it just got too much towards the end. And even if I did get out, I thought I might be too.. _damaged_ , I suppose, to ever get back to what I used to do. But being here with the rest of you, seeing your crew..."

He trails off, but he doesn't need to finish. Michael can see perfectly well what he means, and he turns Gavin towards him and squeezes his shoulders.

"You're not too broken," he says fiercely, "You're gonna be just fine. You might not always feel like it, it might take a long time, but you're not too damaged. Ryan wasn't, I wasn't, you aren't. That bastard Clayton's lost and you've won."

"I know," Gavin whispers, and his green eyes meet Michael's and for a second he realises how close their faces are. It would be easy to lean in and kiss him again - it crosses his mind without him really expecting it too, and makes his heart skip a beat-

But he can't. Not right now. He hugs Gavin instead, and feels the other man's arms wind tightly around him, and as he closes his eyes and relishes the feeling of Gavin's warm body against his, his nose pressing into Michael's shoulder, he realises he can't possibly deny it to himself. He doesn't just like Gavin, he wants him to be a part of this - what he has with Ryan. He doesn't want to keep awkwardly holding back, trying to stop himself from feeling this. It's real. It's happened suddenly and without him really realising it, but he hasn't felt more certain of something in a long time.

He's going to have to tell Ryan - tell him how sure he is, even if the other man takes time to think about this. Even if, he knows, he can't pressure Gavin further by pushing this on him yet.

But he knows it deep in his heart, and the moment he lets himself accept it it feels like the jarring edges of all the pieces in this puzzle have finally fallen into place. No matter what happens, it's a relief to be certain about something, and he hugs Gavin tighter and for the first time finally feels like they're moving on from all of this, at least in some small ways.

 

* * *

 

**xxvii. reaching out**

_At first Gavin spends a lot of time thinking of the ways that he might escape._

_When that doesn't play out, there are a few weeks - nearly a month - when he instead turns to imagining all the ways he might kill Clayton. The man, after all, is the main thing standing in his way. If he were gone it would take a little time for the Harts to get across the country to AC to investigate - time Gavin could use to get out once and for all._

_He thinks about poisoning him often. A coward's method, perhaps, but the one that realistically has the most chance of success; Clayton trusts the food and drink Gavin brings him, and it's unlikely Gavin could take him in a physical fight. Clayton himself uses poisons often against Gemini's enemies. All Gavin has to do is steal it and slip it into his drink. He thinks of watching him die, choking on the floor, face red and foaming at the mouth. Himself standing over him, face totally blank, relishing every last wheezing breath the man might take. He doesn't think it would make him feel good, or bad. More like nothing at all._

_Or he could kill him in his sleep. Break into Clayton's room and smother him, stab him. Shoot him; a gun pressed to a thick pillow to try and muffle the sound. He doesn't know if he could kill someone with his own bare hands._

_He could sell Gemini out on a job, let another gang do the dirty work for him. The Fakes, maybe. He could secretly get in touch with a hitman - but how would he pay them? Steal a bomb from the armoury, put it on Clayton's car - but he's often driving in there with the other man, and it would likely be discovered before he could set it off._

_And no matter how cunning his plan, no matter how many backups or fail-safes he puts in, there's one other problem: he knows he'll never be able to do it. Not because he's incapable, but because deep in his heart he is too afraid. Afraid it will fail and he'll be punished even worse by Clayton - afraid it will succeed but he won't get out, and the Harts will find out it's him, and he's seen what happens to the people who cross them._

_Afraid that even if he does get out, he'll have nowhere to go. Alone in this city without allies, he'll be left wandering again, and another, even worse gang might snatch him up immediately._

_For a while, every night, he plays these scenarios out over and over in his head, imagined simulations of a plan that he knows he'll never put into action. Eventually he stops - they're making him too upset - and even his hatred of Clayton turns into nothing but fear. He hates_ himself _instead, loathing his own cowardice, unable to stop thinking that maybe this all is just his own fucking fault-_

He can hear Ryan talking to Geoff, but can't make out what they're saying. 

It doesn't matter, anyway. That's not what Gavin's here for. He doesn't actually know _what_ he's here for. The others didn't show him the way to the interrogation rooms - through winding underground corridors, past storage rooms and cells and clinically tiled shower rooms where he knows endless blood must have been washed away into the earth - he figured it out himself. He's already created a mostly complete mental map of this entire facility, noted three different ways he can get out if for some reason he has to run, countless more places he might hide.

He knows it won't come to that. He knows. He just can't help it.

Since Michael left to go do some work, he's been exploring on his own - silently, keeping out of the others' way, ducking into shadows or alcoves whenever anyone passes by. As far as they know he's still back in his room. His heart is pounding like this is a break-in; he keeps worrying what's going to happen next. 

_You could stay here. This could be home._

_Or you could leave this whole life behind you. That's what you wanted, isn't it?_

But he can't, not yet - not as long as Clayton is still alive, as the Harts have their eyes on this city. _If you stay in AC, they'll still be around. You'll have to face them again. You can't just wash it all away, not yet._

_And Clayton is here, here, here._

No matter what Michael told him before, no matter how much he believed it at the time, his feet keep drawing him towards the interrogation room, some morbid curiosity in it. He's terrified of seeing Clayton, yet he somehow needs to. Part of him wants to reassure himself that the other man is helpless, bound, that he's not still out there somewhere. Another part, though, is horrified at the thought of having to ever see him again. He knows there's two-sided glass here; he can look at Clayton and the other man won't even know he's there.

The others are just around the corner. He hears their conversation finish and Geoff's voice rise, laughing. Then footsteps - they're coming towards where he's walking - and he ducks into the shadows just in time to see them pass by.

Ryan smells like blood. He's wiping his hands on a rag and Gavin briefly catches smears of red and black on his hands. He must be going to the showers. He passed too quickly for Gavin to really make out any of the details, but just the brief, metallic flash of blood in his nostrils makes him feel sick.

_You should go back_ , he tells himself, but he can't, and his feet drag him forward again, down the hall, towards the door he can see that leads into the observation room. His heart quickens-

_Clayton is here_ , he thinks, looking at the cell doors, _he is here only metres away from you, he is close enough to touch-_

"Gavin?"

He jumps nearly out of his skin, whirling around to find one of the doors has opened. Jeremy's emerging, his arms full of files, and Gavin's heart skips a beat. The other man is frowning, and Gavin feels like he's been caught somewhere he's not meant to be.

Jeremy frightens him.

It's probably stupid to be intimidated by someone six inches shorter than he is with hair like carrots and eggplants. But way back at the garage, when he was working with Burnie - he saw the way the other man looked at him, and it was with the same suspicious dislike that the others had back at the beginning. Even now, he can't tell what Jeremy's thinking, and that worries him. All it would take, after all, is one member of the crew complaining about him being here and he'd be kicked out on his arse.

He's staring at the other man with a sort of deer in the headlights look. When Jeremy steps towards him, he steps back. When the other man reaches for his arm, he flinches, too consumed with worry to notice whatever look crosses the other man's face.

"Sorry," he blurts out, "I was..."

"Coming to find Clayton?" Jeremy asks, and Gavin tries to swallow but finds his mouth dry like he's swallowed mouthfuls of salt.

"Not to let him out!" he says finally, the panicked thought crossing his mind that Jeremy might not just distrust him but could possibly believe he's still the enemy, and God, if he does... if the others think so too... this would all fall apart. "I wouldn't - I hate him - I just thought I'd come see him, make sure he really is secure, I don't-"

"Jesus, dude, calm down." Jeremy tries to touch his shoulder, but as soon as he lifts a hand Gavin's arm's rising to protect his face. He feels like he's going to throw up-

But Jeremy lowers his hand, takes a step back. When he's on the other side of the hall it feels easier to breathe.

"Geoff told me you'd been his prisoner," Jeremy explains, and Gavin stares at him - _he knows? If he knows that then he must know how I hate Clayton, how fucking scared I am of him, that I wouldn't turn on the rest of the crew for him_ \- "You shouldn't be here. Trust me, you don't want to see him."

Gavin finally manages to swallow. It feels like there's a golf ball stuck in his throat.

"Is it bad?" he asks weakly. "What did Ryan..."

He trails off, feeling a bit dizzy. But Jeremy's face has softened, and this time when he walks forward Gavin manages not to tense up.

"It doesn't matter," he replies. "He's secure, and he won't be getting out. We have guards keeping an eye on him twenty-four seven. You don't need to worry about it."

Gavin bites his lip. He wants to believe him, but he still feels jittery and barely even knows what it is that he's worried about.

But Jeremy's touch is gentle as he takes Gavin's arm, and he follows when the other man leads him out. They head to some sort of small kitchen, and Jeremy puts the kettle on and asks what sort of tea he likes, and the next thing Gavin knows they're sitting together around a small table and Jeremy's asking him questions like what sort of video games he likes, and what foods from England he misses, and funny stories about the best way to break into places.

He can tell Jeremy's awkward around someone new - someone he's seen as an enemy for a long time - but he's making an effort, and Gavin appreciates it, and before long he's comfortable enough to laugh at the other man's stories and share some of his own.

"So what's with the hair?" he asks finally. "It wasn't like that last time I saw you."

Jeremy reaches up and touches his bright head.

"Decided it was time to expand the use of my signature colours to parts of my body, too. I'm thinking face paint, next, like Ryan's."

"What, in orange and purple?" Gavin asks incredulously, and falls into a fit of squeaky laughter when Jeremy nods. "You'll look like some sort of bizarre tropical fish!"

"Excuse you."

"Are you hoping to blind your enemies with that horrendous colour scheme?"

"Says Mr. Wears-Black-All-The-Time-Edgelord!  You need a pop of colour in there somewhere. Maybe a scarf or something. A statement piece."

_"Statement piece!"_

"Have you never watched Project Runway?" 

It's nice to see Jeremy laughing, too. It makes it easier for Gavin to see him as just another of the crew like Michael and Ryan and Lindsay - reassures him that the Fakes really are like this; a family.

A family he's been invited to join.

"Aren't you worried you'll look too recognisable?" he asks, and Jeremy shrugs.

"I already wear a hat on heists. I'll just wear one when I go out, too. It'll be fine."

Gavin snickers again, and they fall into a companionable silence. After a moment, Jeremy leans forward.

"I heard Geoff offered you a job with us," he says. "You decided to take it up yet?"

Gavin stiffens. Suddenly the anxiety is back, the pressure of having to decide.

"Not... not yet," he manages, "I'm still thinking about it."

"Hey, that's okay! I mean, it's a big choice and it's not like there's a time limit or anything. For what it's worth, I think you'd be a good fit, and we could use a thief. But I'd understand if you didn't want to hang around here, too."

Gavin bites his lip. Jeremy is kind, and Gavin suddenly wants to ask him more - not about the job or the crew, but about Michael and Ryan.

Because he can't deny it. A big part of why he is drawn to accept the offer is the two of them. He's always had few friends and Dan was the main thing keeping him in England.

Michael and Ryan are the first people he's met in AC who he's ever connected with - he wants to stay near them. He doesn't know what he'll do otherwise, no matter what money or protection Geoff gives him. Get a regular job? Move somewhere else? The lack of certainty is terrifying. 

But that's not the only reason he wants to stay.

The longer he thinks about it, and the more he interacts with the others in this funny time he's been thinking of as _after_ \- after they know the truth, after escaping Gemini, after the kiss - he knows he can't deny that he has feelings for both of them. Not just a fleeting crush, not some clouded hero's worship because they saved him. He sees what the two of them have together, and longs to be a part of it. He relishes every touch, every smile, every kind word.

He doesn't just want to be friends, he wants _more_.

It's terrifying and stupid and he doubts they feel the same way, but he knows he's too hopeful for his own good sometimes. And he's not fool enough to make the first move on them, but he's selfish enough to stay just because he wants to be near them.

"How long have you known Michael and Ryan?" he asks, before he can stop himself.

Jeremy doesn't seem to think it's a strange question.

"About two years now. I joined the crew later than the rest."

"They saved my life. I owe everything to them."

"From what I hear you saved them too. And of course they helped you - they're good people. Well, I mean, they're internationally renowned criminals who've stolen millions of dollars and have hundreds of lives on their hands, but... they aren't the sort of people who'd leave you behind. Not like that."

Gavin nods, slowly.

"Did you know Ray?" he can't help asking, softly.

That's the question that makes Jeremy stiffen.

"You know about him?" he demands, and even the slight change in his tone makes Gavin tense up. Jeremy must notice, because he continues rather more gently. "Sorry, just - I know he used to work with us. That he was close to them. But then he left one day and no one really knows why."

Clearly Jeremy doesn't know all the gory details. Gavin's not about to spill them.

"Michael and Ryan mentioned what happened, that he used to be part of the crew, but not much else about him as a person. What was he like?" he asks.

"Ray? He was... quiet. Reserved, I guess. I never really got close to him. He had a dry sense of humour, quite sarcastic. Didn't suffer fools gladly. He fit in well with us. I think Geoff planned to offer him a permanent position, too, but he left the city before that could happen."

"What did he look like?"

"He was maybe my age, and sort of your height? Dark hair, beard, glasses." A slight smile. “No radical hair colours or anything, though.”

“I see,” Gavin manages.

He has very strange feelings about Ray. The man is at once a stranger to him yet somehow, despite all Michael’s words about being over him, at once intimately involved in the state of things. He gives Gavin hope, in an odd way - hope that once before the others were willing to let a third party into their relationship. Hope that this isn’t an impossible dream, that were everything to align correctly he actually has a chance at this.

At the same time, there’s a simmering, irrational resentment about the other man that rises in his chest. Yes, they fell for Ray - but was Ray anything like him? Had he some other qualities, foreign to Gavin, that appealed to them, that made him fit in with the rest like the missing piece of a puzzle? What if he was so totally different that Gavin could never compare to him?  


He knows he shouldn’t be jealous of a ghost, a man he’s never met and isn’t ever likely to. But still - what if what happened with Ray has put them off letting anyone else in? What if he’s not aided Gavin’s chances but ruined them?  
  
It’s stupid, it’s all so bloody _stupid_ , and he knows he’s overthinking this just like he does everything else. He just can’t help it.

He must be frowning, or have some odd look on his face, because Jeremy reaches to touch his arm.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and Gavin manages a nod, and smiles at him. And when Jeremy smiles back, something in him eases.

It’s not just about Michael and Ryan, he thinks. It’s how Geoff has been so nice to him, and Burnie’s initial kindness, and there’s something for him here. A place he can fit.

“I’m thinking of staying,” he whispers, and when Jeremy’s grin widens any last doubts he has about the man slip away, at least for now, and he’s quite forgotten about Clayton and all the rest of it - focused on a future that, for once, seems bright and happy.

 

* * *

 

That night is one of the best of Gavin’s life, so perfect it feels almost like a dream.

Jeremy takes him to the others’ room, shows him where their quarters in the base are. When they knock at the door Ryan answers, and he has no trace of blood on his hands. His facepaint’s gone, his leather jacket too, but here in the base he looks somehow different to how he did back at the house. At-ease in a way Gavin’s never noticed before. His hair’s loose around his shoulders and he’s in a soft t-shirt and jeans and the way his heart flutters in his chest feels like something from a fairytale, full of hope and possibility. Something pure to it. It’s night by now but in the cosy underground warmth of the base it feels like they’re surrounded by sunlight.

“Been showing Gav around,” Jeremy announces, “But I’m headed home - I figured you guys would be staying the night.”

“Of course. We were about to come find you. Michael’s just having a shower,” Ryan adds, addressing Gavin now as Jeremy walks away, “He just got back from work but we were going to take you out to dinner after that.”

_Take you out to dinner_ \- the words leave Ryan’s mouth so easily, but for Gavin they send a silly thrill through him. Even the nights the others fed him they always ate at the house; when he went out with Clayton to meet clients he was never allowed to eat. He can’t remember the last time he sat down somewhere other than one of their bases to have a meal. It’s stupid, it’s so fucking mundane, but Ryan must see the way his eyes widen. He looks almost upset on Gavin’s behalf, but covers it with a smile.

“What do you like?”

“Anything,” Gavin blurts out, and swallows, a bit embarrassed. “Anything. Anything’s good. Surprise me. What’s your favourite place?”

Ryan laughs, and puts a gentle hand on his back to lead him into the room.

“Well, Michael and I are in constant debate over where the best burgers in the city are, so it’s up to you who you side with…”

Their room isn’t overly furnished - Gavin recalls that they both have apartments they spend more time in than they do here - but there’s a clear sense of ownership to it, of home. He recognises some of Michael’s jackets slung over the sofas in the little sitting area, and shelves on the wall are covered in books - Ryan’s - and vinyl figures - Michael’s, he presumes. For now it is a new place, foreign; he’s worried to sit on the couch, to touch anything.

He wonders, if he stays here, if this too might become a second home to him. If he’ll memorise every pop figure on the shelf, if he’ll fall asleep on these very couches and wake up to find a blanket draped over him like he did back at the house, if he’ll stride into these rooms as easily as if they were his own.

It’s a future that he’d once have dismissed as a fantasy. Now he can’t quite believe it’s within reach, and he can't stop grinning as Ryan starts telling him all about the different diners, restaurants and cafes in the city - "the best waffles I've ever had" and "sea salt ice cream - trust me, it sounds absurd but it tastes like heaven" and "this one time Michael spilt his taco down the inside of his shirt - like there was fucking mincemeat in his belly button I'm not even joking" and it feels like the entire world has opened in front of him, like he's walking into the light for the first time, no more cages.

Michael emerges from the shower. His hair is fluffing up every which way and when he looks at Gavin his smile takes his breath away, and his skin flushes warm at the memory of a few hours ago, and how they'd snuggled up together in his bed, his God damn _bed-_

They go out for dinner.

In the car they listen to old songs - the Carpenters and Simon & Garfunkel and Roy Orbison, and the neon lights passing by them all blur into a single colourful streak, and it's freezing outside but the car is very warm, and Michael leant Gavin one of his leather jackets before they left. It smells like him and keeps sending a shiver down Gavin's spine when he breathes in, and Ryan's in the passenger seat and keeps twisting around to look at him and smile.

"We'll go shopping for more clothes for you tomorrow," Michael's saying, and-

"Burnie's coming to visit," Ryan says, and-

"Did Jeremy tell you about our next heist plan-"

"Oh! You've got to go to the art gallery if you haven't already, God, our plans for that place-"

"Have you seen the loot room in the base yet? Lindsay didn't show you? Oh my God, you've got to-"

Plans upon plans upon plans, until his head's spinning with possibilities. In a good way, a way that makes him feel excited rather than dizzy, and none of them ask him to decide just yet whether he's staying or not. There's no mention of jobs for him to do, expectations for him to participate. Just a gentle certainty that no matter what, he'll be allowed to stick around. He taps his foot to the beat of _Top of the World_ and feels like his heart's singing, too.

Dinner feels like a date, even if the others might not have intended it to. They go to some sort of seafood restaurant up on a hill overlooking the water. The docks have long filled Gavin with a sense of primal dread; he's spent too much time there with Clayton on deals and he associates the smell of the briny, dirty water with gunshots and yelling and watching men bleed out in front of him.

But from up here, through the crystal-clear glass and with gentle piano music playing in the background, the city lights reflected across the shimmering dark water look beautiful, and the white dots of the boats coming back to shore have something peaceful to their smooth movements. 

"This place is too expensive," he whispers, panicked, when they first step into a room that feels like entering a fairy-world; there are crystal chandeliers and sparkling lights everywhere, pale gold walls and plush red carpets, but Michael just laughs softly and squeezes his hand.

"We can afford it."

_"I_ can't-"

"Our treat." He leans in and his breath tickles Gavin's ear. "Consider it a thank you for all the extra effort you put into this job."

"You've already done more than I can repay you for."

"Come on, Gav, we don't want to be repaid for that. What we want is to treat you to dinner. Okay?" 

Gavin can't really protest, not when Michael starts pulling him towards the table where Ryan's already waiting. They sit down and he lets the others order, a number of expensive dishes that nearly make him choke on his own spit as the cost piles up. Ryan picks out a wine using a lot of fancy words, all of which he mispronounces. The waiter seems too awkward to correct him but Michael won't stop laughing at it afterwards.

And then they sit, and eat, and talk about ridiculous things like the possibility of deep space travel, and the spookiest unsolved mysteries they know of, and which celebrities are most likely to survive the zombie apocalypse, and it's been so long since Gavin could just leave work behind and not spend every waking moment thinking about his own damn survival that the time seems to fly by, every moment slipping through his fingers even if he wants nothing more than to stop and savour it. It feels like time's running out no matter how much he tells himself that it isn't. That this is what things are like, now. That he doesn't have to worry that this is the only chance he's got.

The restaurant is dim like candlelight. It makes everything look soft and glowy. He can see the flush on Ryan's cheeks from the wine he's drinking, and the glimmer of the chandelier making pretty patterns across Michael's freckled skin. He watches the way Ryan's scarred hands switch a knife between them as he eats, a skilful dexterity to them, and his eyes linger on how Michael tips his head back and swallows oysters whole. The food is rich and better than anything he's eaten in over a year. Every bite feels forbidden. He's barely touching his wine and he still feels almost drunk.

God, he loves them both.

Here in this funny outside space, all of them dressed differently - he's in red for once, and Michael in a fitted blue shirt that makes his eyes look darker, Ryan in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up - surrounded by signs of wealth at every turn, they don't feel like themselves. But at the same time he feels free to pretend to be something else. Someone deserving of all this. Someone free to wear his heart on his sleeve, to let himself indulge in these feelings at the same time as the others.

_It's not a date._ He has to keep telling himself that. Yes, the others are going to pay for him, and they're both smiling at him with the chandelier lights reflected in their eyes, and the two of them are holding hands but keep reaching out to touch him as well - but it's not a date. They'd've said if it was. He shouldn't be stupid like this.

It's not a date, but it feels too much like one, and he lets himself pretend - secretly - just for a few seconds at a time; when Michael tilts his head a certain way, or Ryan's voice hits a particular soft note. There's no harm in imagining, right?

Later, they go out for a walk. Gavin feels full and sleepy and perfectly content for the first time in ages. It's very cold by now, but Ryan and Michael walk on either side of him, close enough that their arms brush, and between them he feels warm. They buy soft-serve from McDonalds and after the three hundred dollar meal they just had it's somehow hilarious, and they wander through the botanic gardens and then out towards Chinatown. It's a full moon and the city is beautiful in a way he's never noticed before.

"Doing okay?" Michael asks, and he realises he's been quiet. He nods, and licks at his ice cream. He's getting full but he can't bring himself to waste it.

"Yeah. I'm good. Really good," he adds, and he sees them exchange a look before Ryan reaches around him to touch Michael's shoulder. His arm's long enough to just wrap around both of them, and despite how dark the streets are, how cold and empty the city is at this hour, Gavin feels perfectly safe.

 

* * *

 

They get home at some stupid time. The base is mostly empty now, only a few nights on, but guards are still patrolling the corridors. They make Gavin a bit nervous, but they look up and smile and he realises they're just people too - loyal to Geoff - and after that he feels quite safe, instead. If Clayton breaks free, if Gemini comes after them, if something happens - these guys have their back.

Most of the others have left, but Geoff and Jack are hanging around the security cams. They're watching some bank clerk trip over a wet floor sign and howling with laughter about the way that he flails going down. When the others go in to see them they pour a few drinks and stand for a while watching the screens, Geoff mentioning some particularly interesting points, Gavin piping up to let them know about weak spots he can see in the bank.

He was worried that with other people around, things between him and Michael and Ryan would feel different. But they don't - Michael still stands close to his side, and touches his hand to get his attention when he offers him a refill, and Ryan nods and watching him intensely when he talks, focused on every word he says. Things feel good. Gavin could get used to this.

"You got everything you need in your room?" Michael asks, when the night's wound to a close and the other two have walked him back to his door. God, it feel stupid, like some Hollywood cliche. The date over, the hero has walked his love interest back to her doorstep. The protective father watches from the window. They don't dare to kiss.

_Stop that_ , he chides himself, even if some part of him feels like Michael - or Ryan - is about to lean in, to finish things off properly. _They aren't, you know they aren't._

"I do," he whispers, and they both smile.

"See you in the morning then," Ryan says,  and Gavin smiles and nods and for the first time he's actually looking forward to a new dawn, to another day. "Sleep as long as you want, by the way. You have no work to do. If Michael or I happen to go out, just text us and we'll let you know who's at the base you can go and tag along with."

"Okay," Gavin murmurs, and there's a slightly awkward pause before they nod at him again, and exchange goodnights, and head off to their own room down the hall. Gavin watches them leave and then enters his own room in silence.

Tonight was wonderful. Perfect, even. He feels sleepy and content and he's looking forward to tomorrow. Clayton's slipped entirely from his mind, and he knows he won't have bad dreams, and he is quite certain that now everything is going to be alright. 

And then when he goes to shower, under the warm spray and soothing shampoo, body lotions that smell like strawberry, and feels like he's washing away the scars and pain and everything else-

He starts crying and can't fucking stop.

Nothing brings it on; no particular thought, or pain. One moment he's standing there and the next it's like someone's dropped a fucking anvil on his head, like all that pressure is back on his damn shoulders and suddenly he's sinking to his knees in the bloody bathtub, head buried in his hands, body wracked with sobs and trembling hard even in the shower's warmth.

He can’t explain it, why everything suddenly feels so _awful_. Today’s been great, after all. Today’s been-

Today’s been the first time in a year that he’s felt properly alive. It feels like an entire lifetime was packed into the last few hours; everything he’s been missing out on for so long. Stupid, little things, like warm clothes and good food and getting to eat enough that he doesn’t still feel faintly hungry, and his own room with a door that he can choose to lock or not, and not having to constantly worry if he’s doing enough work, and the threat of Clayton calling him completely vanished.

It hasn’t quite hit him until now just how much of a _prisoner_ he’s been.

He knew at the time, of course. And it hurt, too. But it’s hitting him now, over and over again in great crashing waves that seem to sweep his feet out from under him - _the way he treated you, you were nothing. Less than human. You had nothing. You deserved nothing. God, look at the state of you - he’s left his mark all over you. And what are you now? Do you even know how to fucking live?  
  
_ And he keeps telling himself, over and over,  _you’re safe now, you’re safe now, you’re safe now-_

But somehow that only makes him feel even worse, makes more hot tears well in his eyes and spill over his cheeks, makes the hard lump in his chest grow and grow until it crushes his lungs, suffocates him - it’s like it’s all bursting out now, everything he held in for so long, every time he bit his tongue while being yelled at, every night he wrapped his arms tight around his chest and held himself together, clinging to some faint hope, _it won’t be like this forever, it can’t be, it can’t be._

_You’re happy, you idiot, or you should be - why are you crying?  
  
_ After some time the water turns lukewarm, and he has the presence of mind to reach up and turn it off. But then he just sits there, slumped against the cold tiles of the shower wall, knees pulled up in front of him - naked, trembling, growing colder by the second, the torturous _drip-drip-drip_ of the shower head making him flinch each time. His sobs have ceased but his breathing is still ragged and choked, and the whole world around him feels jittery, like he’s seeing it all through the window of a bumpy, speeding car and can’t quite get his balance.

Michael said he wasn’t broken, but right now he sure fucking feels like it. Like this is some defect or deficiency, something a _normal_ person wouldn’t have to worry about.

Even once he catches his breath and forces himself to his feet, everything feels heavy and sluggish, and he still can’t go two minutes without feeling the lump rise in his throat again. He takes twenty minutes to get dressed because each time he pulls on his shirt, or his socks, or his pajama pants he has to pause and calm down and keeps thinking about how much Geoff and the others have given him. This room. These things. He had an apartment once, had possessions. Clayton took all that. Suddenly he wants to burn every black article of clothing he owns, to wear nothing but bright reds and greens and blues, a flaring statement, just like Jeremy’s, letting the world know he’s alive, _present_ , there among the rest of them. A human body, something real and tangible and bright with colour and life.

But right now-

Right now he just doesn’t want to be _alone_ , as he stands there trembling in the middle of a room that he still can’t quite believe is _his_. Michael and Ryan are just down the corridor, but they’ll be sleeping by now, he thinks - and when he manages to find the courage to crack open his door and peek out, the corridor is dark, lit only by the faint lights that dot the floor of all the corridors in the base.

_You can’t go to them. It’s the middle of the bloody night. What will you say? What will they think, if you come crawling to them because you can’t stop crying, because you can’t sleep?_

_You’ll be bothering them. You don’t want to do that. If you start annoying them they’ll hate you._

_Surely they’ve had enough of you for one bloody day._

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at their doorway down the hall, imagining himself walking down to it over and over again, never actually moving. His tears stop; he feels drained and dry and knows he won’t sleep if he goes back into his own room now.

_Be brave._

It swims into his head suddenly; he can’t quite tell whose voice it is. Part of him is so convinced that he’d be doing the others a favour, not bothering them - but he thinks of Michael, whispering to him that they’ll pay for the food; Michael, sitting in bed with him earlier today. And Ryan, Ryan whose face he washed so gently just a few days ago, Ryan who’s patched his wounds before. 

If they came out that door now, the objective, rational part of his brain - the part that seeks out patterns and traces paths through mazes, that predicts human movement until he can break his way in or out of anything - knows that they’d pull him inside straight away.

_Don’t overthink this_.

And he’s not that broken yet, he _knows_ it, and swallows, and takes a deep breath, and before he can second guess himself he forces his feet forward, and his fist up, and knocks gently on their door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.
> 
> C/w for this chapter: Gore/graphic violence (not inflicted on a main character), some descriptions of past abuse.

**xxviii. the home under the ground**

_"No, you have to make sure it's balanced - hold it a little further along the hilt."_

_"Like this?"_

_Ryan remembers how at first, he was frustrated - annoyed that the other man just wasn't fucking getting it. Back in those days he had no desire to try and get closer to the rest of the crew. He was here to do a job, to be as efficient as possible, to make a name for himself with Ramsey and the rest of his lot._

_Didn't matter if Ramsey was kind. Didn't matter if they had a code. Didn't matter if all the rest of them kept being so damnably_ nice _, seemed determined to welcome him to this fucking place, to worm their way in under all his walls._

_He couldn't get close to them. He had self-imposed rules and wore the mask for a reason and he couldn't break that for anyone-_

_Even Michael. Michael, who he knows hated him at the start, who looked at him like he was a fucking monster. Michael who has the same self-loathing deep in his eyes that Ryan sees whenever he looks in the mirror; something close to shame, something slowly consuming. Michael who stayed as far from him as possible, and then - when Geoff forced them to work together - snapped and sniped at him, even if Ryan wouldn't rise to the bait. At least until Ryan saved his life on a job. Michael started looking at him differently after that._

_And as much as he didn't want to, Ryan's started looking at him differently, too._

_As soon as they met, the other man reminded him far too much of himself; there was something guarded to him that made Ryan think wherever he had come from, it wasn't very nice - but he was so passionate about Geoff's code, good at his job, didn't take himself too seriously... had a fire in him that somehow made Ryan feel warm, too. As Geoff puts them on more and more jobs together, they start talking, just a little - a few things being let slip, like where they came from, jobs they've pulled. When Michael makes a random Robinson Crusoe reference one day and asks if Ryan's read it, the conversation about books that follows is the first non-work-related thing Ryan's talked about with the crew since he joined._

_Now he swallows his annoyance and steps forward. Doesn't matter if he's scared, if he doesn't want to get close. Michael asked him to teach him this, and he doesn't know why he said yes - but he'll try his best._

_"Not quite like that," he says, and steps forward, folding his hands over Michael's, repositioning them on the knife. "That's better. Then pull it back, and throw straight..."_

_He pauses. Michael's hands, under his, are warm, and the other man is looking at him  curiously, and Ryan can't help but realise suddenly that this is the first person he's touched in over a year without wanting to kill them. He swallows, suddenly almost nervous, too aware of how it feels to have another’s skin against his._

_“Thanks,” Michael says softly, and something in Ryan’s stone heart stirs, and he’s fucking terrified but at the same time he almost doesn’t want it to stop-_

"Hey, hey, it's okay."

Michael's voice is soft, little more than a whisper - but in the dark bedroom, in the quiet of the night, Ryan can hear it even if he's standing all the way across the room. There's something soothing to it, hushed and so gentle compared to how he usually speaks.

"It's understandable, you know? Before you were just trying to survive. It's after you finally get out that it... that it really hits you. I was like that, too, when I first ran away. And it must be ten times worse for you after everything he put you through."

"I don't..."

"It's okay to be upset. It's okay to not know _why_ you're upset. And it's always better to let it out than keep it bottled up. Well, as long as you're not starting any fires." He gives a wry laugh and after a moment Ryan hears Gavin giggle, too. "Although there are plenty of other ways to spread mass destruction."

Gavin laughs again, and Ryan glances discreetly over at them. He feels a little awkward, a little out of place. 

That may or may not be due to the fact that he and Michael were making up for lost time when Gavin came knocking at their door.

With the Lost dead and their injuries healing, it'd seemed like a good time. A celebration of sorts, with things finally over - and after everything that'd happened they'd both wanted the comfort of each other's touch. They'd only just been getting started when they were interrupted, but any annoyance Ryan felt had melted away quickly at how distraught Gavin seemed.

Still. He's been left to discreetly flip over the couch cushions and straighten the furniture while Michael took a distracted Gavin over to the bed. In the dim light Ryan can only just see the shapes of their bodies under the covers. Michael's hand's moving - stroking Gavin's back, it seems - and something aches in Ryan's chest.

He remembers how fucking blank Gavin's face used to be all the time - how the sunglasses hid everything. And after that, how scared he'd get, how shaky and panicked.

But this was something totally different - the sight of the other man with red eyes and tears streaked down his cheeks, unable to get so much as word out without choking... it felt worse somehow, made him seem so completely broken that Ryan had been shocked. Had frozen, and hung back, as Michael tugged him into the room. 

"You'll be okay," he's saying now, and Ryan sees him tug Gavin even closer, leaning in. For a moment it looks like he's pressing a kiss to the top of Gavin's head. It's hard to tell, from this angle.

He straightens up. Everything's cleaned up and he's pulled his shirt back on. He should go over there, but feels suddenly uncertain. Michael's the one Gavin wants, after all - the one he always seeks out for comfort. Not Ryan. Hell, until a few days ago Gavin still seemed scared of him.

But now - now Michael looks up at him, and smiles. Their eyes meet and Ryan freezes, but Michael lifts the hand that’s not cradling Gavin - the other man’s curled up into him, his head buried in Michael’s shoulder - and beckons.

Ryan bites his lip. He wants to join them, he does - but this feels like a step too far, because he and Gavin hugged before, comforted one another, and Michael mentioned how he’d been to Gavin’s room earlier today. But something feels different about here and now, about it being one in the morning and in a bed where he and Michael have spent countless nights together. Too-aware that Gavin doesn’t realise just what he interrupted.

But Michael’s gaze doesn’t falter, his eyes still on Ryan even if he starts stroking Gavin’s back again. There’s room for Ryan to get in; it’ll be a tight fit but pressed together they’ll stay warm.

_Come on,_ he thinks, and isn’t sure whose voice breathes it into his ear - his, Michael’s, Wendy’s, some other ghost - but he remembers the first few baby steps he took with Michael, and later Ray, and looking at Gavin’s hunched form it feels somehow more urgent. He takes a deep breath, and moves to join them.

Michael smiles, and scoots over, pulling Gavin with him before switching the light out. Ryan’s used to having his arms around Michael, and it feels strange for a third body to suddenly be between them. Gavin looks up, his face swollen and tear-streaked, and his eyes widen when he notices Ryan’s here, too.

“Sorry,” he begins, but Michael shushes him.  
  
“Don’t start with that,” he chides. “I’d rather you come to us than sit alone in your room upset. Hell, I’m _pleased_ you came.”

“Me too,” Ryan says, and it isn’t even a lie, not when he sees the way Gavin’s shoulders relax and some of the pinched worry leaves his face. He feels a little awkward, on the edge of the bed unsure where to put his arms - but now he relaxes into the pillows and lets one hand fall naturally over Gavin’s back. His fingers tangle with Michael’s and they curl up together, the three of them, Gavin sandwiched between them.

It’s strange having someone literally in the bed with them. Even Ray never quite made it this far, and _this isn’t like Ray, this is totally different_ \- Gavin’s breathing is still uneven, a constant reminder that things here aren’t quite right, quite healed, not just yet.

But still - it’s easier than he expected. Feels more normal. Makes him wonder just what he was scared of. As they all settle into something close to sleep again, he can feel Michael’s hand squeezing his, and see how the other man is curled protectively around Gavin, no shyness in the way their bodies are pressed together.

_He wants this._

It's been clear for a while now, but Ryan's still unsure. But he knows Michael well enough that he can tell how content he is lying here now with them. And he knows in a heartbeat - if Gavin wanted, if Ryan agreed - Michael would have him join them.

He closes his eyes. His heart starts to pound again, but he takes a deep breath.

_You still have time. Nothing's changing, not just yet. You can let yourself stop and think about this._

The sheets are warm. He can feel Gavin breathing. He lets himself pretend, just for a night, that this is what they are - the three of them - that this isn't the first time they've all slept together.  It's not real, but it feels good, and it's easier if he tells himself it's all just make-believe; an easy, gentle fantasy, one that lulls him to sleep before he even knows it.

 

* * *

 

"They'll know I'm gone by now," Clayton chokes out. "You bet your ass they're on their way here right now. You think you know the extent of the twins' power? You have no fucking idea. Ramsey and Achievement City are screwed."

Ryan ignores him. It's a bright, clear morning outside, but down here in the clinical fluorescent lights of the interrogation rooms it's impossible to tell what time it is. With his mask on he doesn't have to worry about anything Clayton might see on his face as he debates over which knife to use next.

He finally picks one up, and turns. Clayton's past pulling at his bonds now; his face is swollen beyond belief and his whole front is caked in dried blood. Half his teeth are missing and when he leers at Ryan his mouth is a gaping, bloody mess.

"No fucking clue," he repeats, and Ryan impassively moves towards him.

"They would have taken Achievement City long ago if they had the kind of firepower you're threatening," he says, and Clayton laughs; a rasping noise, strained with his broken ribs.

"It wasn't the right time. You'll see. And when they come they'll kill your crew, first. Kill your fucking boyfriend right in front of you. They'll save Ramsey for last, of course."

Ryan isn't sure what the hell the guy's hoping to gain from riling him up; it's not like Ryan's about to let him go and running his mouth will only make things worse for him. But he can see the sheer hatred in Clayton's eyes, and if he had to guess he'd say the other man just wants to hurt him as much as possible before he goes down. Scare him, if he can.

Ryan will give him this, he's one tough nut to crack. Hasn't let slip a word about the Harts or their operations across the country. But he'll break in the end - they always do, he thinks grimly, and moves in with the knife. Clayton lets out a choked yell, and sticky warm blood covers Ryan's gloved hands. He wipes it away with a towel. Maybe it should scare him, how used to this he's gotten. How he's able to turn it off until he might as well be doing fucking arts and crafts; it's all the same to him. But he knows what he's doing this for - that's the part that matters.

"Where's your Achievement City armoury?" he asks, flatly. Gavin had told them about how all Gemini's weapons were stored somewhere on the North side of the city, but he didn't know the exact location - just that everything they needed showed up from there when it came time for a heist, and anything new they stole was taken to some mysterious location.

Clayton huffs out another strained laugh.

"How'd you know about that, then? That little bitch Free spill everything, huh-"

He breaks off with a strangled cry as Ryan reaches for him again, fingers digging in, twisting.

"Talk or scream, I'm not interested in anything you have to say other than the answers I want."

"You think you can hurt me, Vagabond?" Clayton sneers instead. "I know pain. I've seen people do ten times worse than what you dream you're capable of. Hell, I've done things that would give you nightmares. You're not as depraved as you think you are. Compared to the Harts you're a fucking child-"

Another scream that echoes through the room. Ryan reaches for his knife again, but Clayton keeps laughing, even as more blood spatters to the floor - and despite himself, Ryan feels a shiver of discomfort. 

Clayton's an asshole, yeah, and cruel as well - but there's something about him that makes Ryan deeply uncomfortable. He's like a cockroach; Ryan feels like he can't be crushed, like somehow everything he's doing is nothing but a petty amusement to the other man. This would be easy if Clayton was cowed and crying, if it felt like Ryan was actually getting to him. But he's not.

"Where's the armoury?" he repeats, and Clayton gasps for breath - then looks up at Ryan. His eyes are yellowed and bloodshot, but still blazing with defiance.

"You know what, I was wrong before," he says. "They're not gonna kill Geoff last. That traitor Gavin's gonna watch you all die before they skin him alive..."

He trails off. Ryan's frozen, staring at him, hand clenched tightly around the knife. Even with his mask on, Clayton must sense his anger - a slow smile spreads across his face as he realises he's touched a nerve, and Ryan's stomach drops.

"You Fakes were always too soft," he sneers, spitting blood with every word. "Should've realised it'd be a bad idea to send Gavin to that house with you. He can be so terribly pathetic, can't he? It'd almost make me feel sorry for him, too. Bet he spun you a pretty little sob story, huh? Bet he told you all the awful things I did to him."

"Shut up," Ryan hisses, but Clayton tilts his head.

"Or didn't he? Was he too embarrassed? I have to say, I'm almost impressed. I really didn't think he had the balls to sell us out like this. He is a coward, after all. Do you know, he didn't fight back once? The second we caught him he was begging for his fucking life, grovelling at my feet like a damn dog - he promised the Harts anything they wanted just to spare his miserable life-"

Ryan's jaw clenches. He punches Clayton across the face and his lip splits again, blood gushing down his chin - but the other man just laughs, almost gleeful now.

"Protective, aren't you,  Vagabond? Who would've thought there was a soft heart under all... _that."_ He jerks his head, encompassing everything; Ryan's leathers and skull mask, his bloodstained hands, white plastic gloves covered in gore now. It should be terrifying to anyone - but right now he somehow feels like nothing more than a stupid child playing dress-up. "Then again, you fell for Mogar, didn't you? Is that why you helped Free, then? Alone in that house together... he does have pretty eyes, doesn't he? You want to fuck him, too?"

"Shut up," Ryan hisses, but Clayton's eyes are glimmering meanly.

"He'd let you," he sneers, "That bitch would do anything to get what he wants. I'm sure he's grateful for you getting him out of there. He'd probably let you do anything you like to him. You just have to know how to push-"

Ryan seizes the knife, raises it high, but Clayton laughs again.

"What'll you do? Kill me? Then you'll have no information, no leads-"

"I can hurt you," Ryan snaps, and Clayton just grins a bloody, toothless grin at him.

"Touched a nerve, did I, Vagabond? God, you're pathetic. So riled up over some boy you barely know. You think you saved him, don't you? Bet you feel real fucking good about yourself. Well, you didn't. Maybe he's out of Gemini but I'll always be there. In his head." He leans forward and for a moment the cold ruthlessness in his face makes Ryan freeze. It's a look he hasn't seen on anyone before - except his own eyes in the mirror, in the worst days between Wendy and the Fakes, when he cared about nothing and no one, when the body count got so high he lost track. "He's broken beyond repair - you'll see. I'm good at that, even if you aren't. Thing is, you got to get in fast, right at the very beginning. Didn't let him sleep for five days the first week we had him. Nothing but bright lights and loud noise and an endless string of jobs to work on - had to get him to prove his worth, after all."

The anger's rising in Ryan's chest; a solid, choking block he can't push down. His fingers clench around the hilt of the knife, again and again, imagining all the ways he might plunge it into Clayton's body, watch him bleed out and die in front of him.

"He didn't act up for a long time after that," Clayton says, with a rasping chuckle. "Of course, he failed us quite a few times since then, and he had to be punished. Have you seen his back, Haywood? If you do fuck him, you'd better keep the lights off. It might put you right off-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up-"

"My point is," Clayton says, and somehow he's the one twisting the knife now, "You think you've got him out of there, you think you've saved him - like you're some sort of hero? You're not. He'll always be back in that room. He'll never actually trust you. Maybe he'll convince himself he does, but just you wait. One day you'll snap at him, or move too fast, or he'll do something to piss you off, and just like that you'll have ruined everything you thought you were fixing all over again. And just like that, I'll have won." Another grin. For the first time the sight of the blood on his teeth makes Ryan feel sick. "You're too late."

_Too late. Too late._ That's what does it, that's what makes something snap deep inside, something taut and fragile he thought he'd long managed to bury away. With a roar he drops the knife and lunges at Clayton, punching him across the face - and again, and again. The chair he's tied to tips over and Clayton grunts in pain as his body hits the floor - Ryan barely even notices, kicking him over and bearing down on him with fists and boots. Bones crack under his skin, flesh splits and gives way to blood and bruises. _Good_ , he thinks. _Good, good - let him hurt._

"Ryan! _Ryan!"_

He can hear knocking, but barely registers it. His fists drive down again and again until his own knuckles are stinging and caked in blood. 

"Ryan!"

The knocking's louder. It's coming from the two-way mirror just above them. Then it stops, and all Ryan can hear is his own heavy breathing and the grotesque crunch and squelch of each blow against Clayton's face. The other man's not laughing now, has just fallen silent, his eyes rolling back in his head-

And then strong hands are gripping Ryan's arms and yanking him back, up off the body. He struggles for a moment, desperate and wild. His elbow hits the person's chest and they grunt in pain - but still haul him back, back, until they both hit the table and Ryan falls still, breathing heavily.

"Jesus Christ, Ryan." It's Geoff's voice. He still has a bruising grip on Ryan's arms, is holding him back like he thinks any second now he'll snap again. "Get out of here."

"I..." Ryan trails off, swallowing a few times. Everything tastes like blood and he can't figure out why, but things are slowly clearing - like a red haze has been lifted from his vision. Clayton's a crumpled, pathetic pile on the floor. His face is smashed so badly it looks like an overripe grape, skin split, bloated and purpling. Ryan's seen a lot of shit but when he looks down at his own hands, caked in blood, something sick rises in his throat. The other man's chest is still rising and falling, shallowly.

Geoff shoves at his shoulder.

"Get out," he repeats. "I'll deal with this."

Ryan stumbles for the door. He peels off his gloves and lets them drop to the ground before opening it, feeling shaky and weak as the adrenaline fades away. He makes his way to the observation room, then from there the bathroom, and peels off his mask, bracing himself against the sink and letting his forehead drop against the cool glass of the mirror.

He feels sweaty and hot all over, aching with exhaustion but still so riled up that he almost wants to go back in there and beat Clayton up all over again.

_You lost control._

Just like he had back when he went and slaughtered all the Lost - just like he used to when the Vagabond was his entire identity. 

_You lost control because he said all that shit about Gavin._ And even now, the memory is enough to make his bile rise and his fists clench. It's the sort of consuming protectiveness that he's only really felt towards Michael before. He's been trying not to think about what Clayton might've done to Gavin, after what little they already heard. But now he can't stop.

_A year's a long damn time._

_This isn't gonna be something he just gets over._

And it's sickening to dwell on, but even so... when he thinks of how Gavin refused to let him kill the arms dealer, how he stood up for that, how he turned his back on Clayton and came to trust the two of them, putting his whole damn life in their hands...

The _bravery_ nearly overwhelms him, and the burning, fierce passion that rises in his chest at that is something far from anger. Something terrifyingly closer to love.

The door opens and he jumps. He looks up and in the mirror sees Geoff standing behind him. With a shaking breath Ryan turns on the tap and starts washing his hands, the cold water stinging against his scratched knuckles.

"What the hell was that back there?" Geoff asks. He sounds more concerned than angry. "I haven't seen you lose it like that in months."

"Were you listening?"

"Towards the end, a little bit."

"He was saying shit about Gavin, I just..." he pauses, head hanging low, watching the red-tinged water swirl aimlessly down the drain. "You're right, I lost it, but I'd do it again. He's _evil,_ Geoff - they all are. The shit they do..."

"I know." Geoff moves closer, slowly, and rests a hand on his back. Ryan didn't register until now that he was trembling. "You're right, I know. It just took me by surprise. You usually have more control than that."

There's a pointed question in it, and Ryan squeezes his eyes shut.

"You've seen Gavin. He's... he's the last person who deserves to go through what he did."

"You and Michael must have gotten close to him, living in that house together."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ryan snaps, automatically. It's so sudden and defensive that it gives him away pretty much instantly; Geoff's eyebrows rise.

"Nothing, unless you think it should mean something," he says. Ryan looks down, biting his lip, unsure what to say. He trusts Geoff, and values his advice, but relationships aren't exactly something they talk about. Not when he got together when Michael, not when they were thinking about Ray. It seems too sudden to bring it up out of the blue. Besides, what could Geoff possibly suspect?

"Michael is very close to him," he manages.

"Close?" Geoff prompts, and Ryan swallows.

"We both are," he amends - doesn't want him to get the wrong idea - "We wouldn't have suggested he join the crew otherwise. He... fits in with us, really well."

"Okay," Geoff manages. He still sounds confused, and Ryan lowers his head. And he can't help it, now, is desperate for any sort of advice, or even just an outside perspective. He feels too lost to continue wandering on his own like this.

"We both care about him a lot," he adds, pointedly. "More than we probably should."

It takes a moment for Geoff to register it. Ryan braces himself for some sort of shock - but the other man just nods, slowly.

"Okay," he says. Then, "You know, I always did think the two of you were unusually close to Ray. I never asked questions, none of us did, but we all thought..."

"Jesus," Ryan mutters, feeling unduly flustered. The last thing he wanted out of this conversation was people speculating over what'd happened between them all. But Geoff's eying him carefully, and Ryan swallows. He has to admit, he does appreciate that the other man never pushed or pried, even if he must've been curious.

"Yeah," he grunts finally. "Nothing actually... happened, between us, but it was going to. We _wanted_ it to. Michael and I had discussed it, we were both on board, we were certain Ray was interested... then he just vanished."

"So you never actually..."

"Nope. We were gonna ask him, but then he started distancing himself. We still have no idea what happened and he's ignoring all communication from us, so." He shrugs, trying not to let his hurt show too much. "It was ages ago. But we... we were willing to add him."

Geoff's chewing his lip, brow furrowed. It must be strange, after so long, to finally know the story, or most of it at least. 

"He still talks to me," he says. "If I asked him, he might tell me what happened. Get you some answers."

Ryan jolts. He and Michael have been so private about the whole situation that the thought someone could intervene and resolve it had seemed impossible - and it's immediately fucking terrifying.

"No," he blurts out immediately, "It's fine."

"But it must suck - not knowing."

It does. It does, it does, but the wound's healed by now and he's not about to rip it open again.

" _Do not bring it up to him_ ," he hisses, and Geoff raises his hands defensively.

"Alright! I won't. The offer's there if you ever change your mind, but I'm not gonna fuck around in your business. I wouldn't, Ryan - you know that."

Ryan nods, vaguely mollified. He takes a deep breath and shakes himself.

"Anyway," he manages, "That's what happened. So we have... discussed it before."

"And now there's Gavin," Geoff says, slowly.

"And now there's Gavin," Ryan repeats softly, and he doesn't have to say anything more. Geoff knows. The other man's frown deepens, and Ryan looks away, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain. Geoff's one of the few people whose opinion he values above all else.

"Be careful," is all Geoff says, finally.

"I know," Ryan replies, "After all he's been through we shouldn't-"

"Well yes, there's that," Geoff cuts in. "But I meant you guys as well. You and Michael, you've been through a lot. I know it's not easy for you, stuff like... like this." For the first time he seems at a loss for words, but Ryan holds his gaze, intent. Understanding. "Don't push yourself too hard, yeah? But Ryan - let yourself be happy, too. Gavin needs people who care about him - don't pressure him, but I think it'd be nice for him to know that... that he's _wanted."_

Ryan bites his lip. And there's the dilemma - he's worried about how things are developing, but at the same time if Gavin _does_ like them back, he doesn't want to give the other man the impression that the reason Ryan's unresponsive is because he doesn't like or want him.

"I know," he whispers, and Geoff nods and claps him on the shoulder-

But he's scared, scared, scared, even if he forces a smile like he knows what he's doing. _Too late_ is still ringing in his head.

Michael's safe now. The threat of the Lost is gone, and they got him back. But now there's Gavin to worry about, and taking down Gemini feels like starting up with the Lost all over again - Ryan's stretched thin with the pressure of protecting both of them.

It all just feels too fragile - like any wrong move could break him, or the others, or all of them.

 

* * *

 

Geoff gives him the afternoon off, and he feels better after a long shower, leaving the rest of the work to the others in the crew. He wanders into the common area to find the others - Michael took Gavin out for breakfast this morning, and it seems like the two of them are now back and playing video games. They're cackling over MarioKart when Ryan walks in, and the sound of their mingled laughter - Michael's familiar and gleeful, Gavin's something he delights in hearing for how rare it is - makes him smile.

"Michael, no - Michael!" Gavin's squeaking. Ryan glances at the screen and sees triple red shells. He rolls his eyes as he comes in and perches on the arm of the couch next to Michael.

"Really?" he asks, glancing at Gavin with raised eyebrows. "Wario's your character of choice?"

"What's wrong with Wario?" Gavin demands. "He has a sinister moustache. You should grow one. It might help you look scarier."

"I feel like that'd just ruin every intimidating effect I'm going for," Ryan replies, but can't help smiling wider at how bright Gavin's voice is, how easily he teases and laughs, how he rocks against Michael's side, trying to bump the controller out of his hands as the other man approaches the finish line.

After how distraught he was last night, today Gavin's practically glowing. His face is flushed and happy and he's smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world. Michael must have taken him shopping, because he's in new clothes - faded red jeans, and a soft, dark blue t-shirt, a colourful striped hoodie draped over his shoulders. He looks brighter somehow, like a whole different person, and Ryan can't quite take his eyes off him.

Michael crows as he wins, and Gavin groans, placing his controller down. He turns and finds Ryan staring.

"New clothes?" Ryan asks, and Gavin looks down and picks at his shirt.

"Yep," he says, and smiles a bit. "No more black. I figured it's time for a change."

His hair's all spiked up, too, instead of lying flat over his head like it used to, and he looks healthier in a way Ryan can't quite pinpoint but that is somehow apparent in every fibre of him; like he has more energy, is somehow more _alive_.

"You look good," Ryan says, too sincerely, and Gavin bites his lip and looks down, blushing so intensely that it makes Ryan pause.

_Maybe he does want this, too,_ he thinks, before he can stop himself, but shakes the thought away for now. They can figure that out later.

Michael rises and turns to him, stretching. His back cracks so loudly that both Gavin and Ryan grimace and exchange a disgusted glance.

"You done for the day, Ry?" Michael asks.

Ryan nods. He doesn't miss the way Gavin stiffens just a little, but he doesn't ask about Clayton, and Ryan’s not about to tell him.

"Yeah. Let's all go out."

"We thought we might go see a movie," Michael says, and glances at Gavin with a smile. "It's been a while since Gav went to the cinema."

Gavin looks down shyly, but Ryan's already nodding.

"Sounds good! Been a while for us, too. We can go to lunch afterwards. I'll drive - Gavin, did Geoff get you a new phone yet?"

"Yes," Gavin says, and waves it in the air. The phone case is covered in cartoon cats and Ryan has to suppress a chuckle. One of Lindsay's for sure.

"Great. You can look up what's showing on the way there."

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that they've known each other for weeks now, despite how they've been out together a heap of times for jobs - something still feels different about this. Ryan's almost nervous - not in a bad way, in that buzzing, excited little way that he used to get the first time he asked Michael out to get drinks without the others around, the first time they went for a walk at night on the beach together... wanting things to go well, somehow feeling like everything he does has more weight.

If Gavin notices, he doesn't say anything. He's still a little quiet, a little shy, and Ryan suspects he might be more than a bit nervous too - as they sing along to the radio in the car, as Michael complains about Ryan's driving, as they curse over the lack of parking spaces. Normal, mundane things that somehow seem overly important. Ryan can't stop glancing up at the rear view mirror to watch Gavin laugh, curled up in the backseat. It makes his heart flutter each time.

There are mostly horror and action movies out, and while usually that'd be their pick of things, Ryan doesn't think blood, violence and gore are what any of them need at this point.

"Dunkirk's promising an immersive experience," Michael muses, as they mill around in the cinema foyer Hamlet'ing over what to go see.

"We get an immersive experience every fucking day," Ryan points out. "Maybe not right now. What's something funny?"

Their gazes turn to some crappy looking rom com nearby, and after a moment Michael chuckles and goes to get tickets.

It's a weekday afternoon and the movie's in its last days of screening, so the cinema is nearly empty. They sit at the back in a row - save for a handful of elderly women at the front of the screening, there's no one around, and when the room darkens and the film begins to play Ryan feels quite comfortable reaching out and taking Michael's hand. He's sitting in the middle, Gavin on his other side. Now and then when they both reach into the popcorn bucket, their fingers brush. Each time they look at each other and exchange a sheepish little smile. Ryan almost wants to take his hand, too. Michael wouldn't mind. But he can't quite bring himself to make the move, and doesn't want to put Gavin on the spot when he can't exactly say no or talk about it. Still - their arms press together where they're both leaning on the arm-rest, and neither of them pull away.

The movie's shit, but they laugh over some of the more ridiculous moments, and it's nice just spending time together, being able to forget about work for an hour and a half. They walk out arguing about all the plot holes, and Ryan's still holding Michael's hand but he puts a hand on Gavin's shoulder to steer him the right direction leaving the theatre and may or may not forget to take it off after.

"Have fun?" Michael asks, as they head out into the rest of the shopping centre.

"Yeah," Gavin chirps, "It was good, but..."

He hesitates, his face twisting, and Ryan pauses, expecting the worst - that something in the film upset him, that he's still worried about Clayton - but he just continues, "Do you ever like, get a bit of popcorn in your mouth that isn't actually popped and is just like a sort of hard ball."

Michael bursts out laughing - Ryan sees the relief on his face - and his own shoulders relax. What Clayton said keeps popping back into his head, but...

_Not today_ , he thinks.

"Yeah, not the fun sort of hard balls to have in your mouth," Michael says, and Gavin's cheeks turn red.

"Indeed," he manages. "What do you do with them? Do you like... crunch them up and swallow them? I never want to chuck them on the floor because then someone has to clean them up after."

"Dude. Just spit them out. Throw them away after if it bothers you that much."

"I ate them all," Gavin says sadly, "I didn't know what else to do. Now my molars hurt."

"Poor baby," Michael teases, jostling his shoulder.

"Babies don't have teeth," Gavin informs him, but he's smiling, and Ryan watches the two of them, fondly, his heart fluttering again. He wishes he could reach out and touch Gavin so easily, but he still can't bring himself to, not quite yet, afraid he'll start something he's not able to stop.

They go to lunch at a cafe in the middle of the mall. Sitting in a booth they watch people pass by, chattering mothers pushing strollers, bored looking college students with earphones in, school kids who are probably bludging class to come to the food court. It feels so removed from everything they've been doing the past few weeks, so absurdly normal.

Gavin's sitting across from the two of them, alone on his side of the booth. Ryan wishes they'd chosen a round table instead - it also means the two of them sort of stare, watching him eat his chicken crepe. Ryan can see him forcing himself to slow down, to savour it, but there's still something methodical to the way he cuts it up and scrapes every bit off the plate before putting it in his mouth, arguing between mouthfuls with Michael over whether the guy who invented Eggs Benedict was really called 'Benedict.'

"But the only thing that stops it being merely a poached egg on toast is the hollandaise sauce!" Michael argues, mock-seriously, but Ryan can see the way his lips are twitching and the laughter in his voice.

It's like watching him fall for Gavin in real-time - the look on his face, the cadence of his voice, it's unmistakeable. Maybe because Ryan's seen it, heard it before. And Gavin's so guarded that Ryan can't tell if he's picking up on it too, if he's feeling the same or if the smile on his face is just him coming out of his shell around them at last-

Either way, he wants to protect it. This fragile, tentative happiness, the trust that Gavin seems to be allowing to blossom. But he can't stop thinking about what Clayton said. There was truth in it, even if the other man was just trying to be cruel. _We have to be so, so careful with this._

And what he said, or implied at least, about scars... 

He'd seen Gavin's shoulder when he was stitching it up, but the other man had just pulled his arm out of one sleeve. When Ryan previously saw him with his shirt off, it was from a distance and he’d been so covered in new cuts and scratches that he hadn’t paid attention to any old ones. Staring at him now, in his new clothes and so carefree, taking one of the chips Michael's offering him - Ryan almost doesn't want to know, to have to face it.

But he has his own scars, and Michael has his, and he knows they're things they have to confront together. If they really care about Gavin, this isn't something they can shy away from.

And maybe it's selfish, but he just isn't sure he's ready - to take that on, to care about someone else. So he sits and watches - smiles when Gavin glances over at him - worried, but wanting.

 

* * *

 

They look in the video game store and at DVDs. Michael offers to buy Gavin a Nintendo Switch; he refuses, quite genuinely.

"It's too expensive," he insists, "You already bought me all those clothes this morning."

"Money isn't a problem," Michael begins, but Gavin shakes his head frantically.

"It's too much," he whispers, and Ryan reaches out and presses Michael's arm, giving him a pointed look. The last thing they need is Gavin feeling like he's even more indebted to them. Michael frowns, but drops it.

"I think Geoff said he's sorting out payment for you later today," he says instead. "That'll be good, yeah?"

Gavin nods frantically.

"Yes! Of course. I'll have to choose then, though, won't I? What I want to do next?"

They glance at each other. This has suddenly gotten a bit too serious for the middle of Game Stop.

"Not necessarily," Ryan says. "You still have time to think about it. Burnie's coming to visit soon - he could tell you about some other options."

Gavin nods - but he's looking down now, a little uncertain, and Michael claps his hands together.

"Let's get dessert!" he declares brightly, and they jump on the chance to change the topic.

 

* * *

 

If things felt a bit like a date before, they do even more now that evening's falling. They sit in the outdoor section of a little dessert bar, staring out at the park. The sky's stained pink and gold as the sun sets, and the big fountain in the middle of the park sends glimmering jets of water up against the clouds. It looks like something from a postcard, a secretive heaviness to the dusk, a time for lovers to linger in the shadows.

They're eating churros together and cooing over the dogs running in the park - Ryan doesn't miss how Gavin flinches, though, when one of the bigger ones runs closer to them, or how Michael reaches out and rests a hand easily on his back until he calms down - and somehow the conversation turns to the two of them.

"Our first date?" Michael asks, looking a bit surprised.

Gavin nods shyly, and promptly buries his face in his mug of hot chocolate like he's worried about having asked. Like he thinks it means too much somehow. Maybe it does - it's an innocent enough question, but his reaction gives him away.

"Well, we'd already been out to drinks a few times, but I wasn't sure if they counted as dates or not," Ryan says, dunking another churro. "I'd never really dated before, you see, so I couldn't tell if just asking him out to something alone was an indication that we were _going out_."

"And I assumed he just wanted to be friends," Michael adds, "Because he asked me so gruffly it really didn't seem like a date."

Ryan laughs - it makes him cringe a little, remembering his first interactions with Michael as the Vagabond, even if he knows he had good reason for it. 

"But the first proper date where we both knew what was going on... it was the time of year when that light festival is on and there are those exhibitions all over the city. We had dinner at some pub where some little indie live music was playing and Ryan got wrangled into buying a CD-"

"Look, I _chose_ to buy that CD," he protests, "I liked their vibe!"

"You described them as 'not even singing, just speaking rhythmically!'" Michael laughs - Gavin giggles, and they both shoot him a fond look in such unison that it'd be comical if it wasn't so awkward. "Anyway, then we went for a walk around the city looking at all the lights. Talked a lot. Revealed various aspects of our tragic backstories."

"Snogged in the park like teenagers?" Gavin prompts, and Michael pulls a face.

"What the fuck does 'snogged' mean? It sounds gross."

"Kissing, Michael! It means kissing."

"Sounds like some sort of weird sex move involving the nose. You'd be good at it," Michael says, and Gavin squawks in protest. 

"No, we didn't 'snog' in the park, but Ryan did kiss me when he took me back to my flat," Michael says, and glances at Ryan with such warmth in his eyes that Ryan can't help wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He doesn't miss the way Gavin's eyes trail over him.

"That's really sweet," he says quietly, glancing between them and giving a small smile. "You guys are... really good together."

"Thanks," Ryan says, unsure what else you're meant to say to that, really.

"It's good you could find each other," Gavin adds, and bites his lip. “After… after everything.”

“It is,” Ryan agrees softly, and looks over at Michael. He can see that he’s dying to say something, his jaw working nervously - but he turns to Ryan, as though asking permission. Ryan freezes, conflicted - unsure what Michael’s intentions are, but knowing that anything he says will try and move _this_ along between them all, and…

_Not yet_. They still need to talk about it, Ryan still needs to be _sure_ , even if he wants it, wants it, wants it.

When he doesn’t speak, Michael looks a little disappointed, but doesn’t push it.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says, and rises, leaving them in a slightly awkward silence. Gavin’s turned to watch him leave, and finally he looks back over at Ryan. There’s one churro left, and Gavin pushes the plate towards him.

“You have it,” Ryan says, but Gavin shakes his head.

“I ate too much today already,” he murmurs.

“No you didn’t,” Ryan begins, but Gavin smiles and raises a hand to appease him.

“No, I just mean I’m full,” he laughs, and Ryan relaxes. He reaches out and breaks the churro in half instead - Gavin’s face brightens and he takes one piece. 

They eat in silence, but it’s companionable rather than awkward. When Gavin speaks next, his voice is careful, but not scared.

“Ryan,” he says, “Back at the house when you had that bad fever… do you remember much of the things you said while you were sick?”

“Bits and pieces,” Ryan replies.

“You, um… you thought I was Michael at one point. You started talking about Ray. You said you were angry when he left.”

Ryan freezes. The question seems to come out of nowhere - Ray just seems to keep coming up today, when right now he’s the last person Ryan wants to dwell on. His conversation with Geoff this morning feels like a lifetime ago - he’d nearly managed to forget about it.

He nods at Gavin, who bites his lip but continues, “I just wondered… was that true? Is that how you felt when Ray left? I guess I’m just curious if it… if it affected your relationship with Michael at all. And if it put the two of you off trusting anyone else like that again.”

Ryan isn’t sure how to answer that. Gavin’s calm falters when he doesn’t reply immediately.

“Sorry to pry,” he begins nervously, and Ryan shakes himself.

“You’re not,” he assures him, and takes a deep breath. “I was angry. I was really, _really_ angry. And hurt, and upset, and worried. Since then I’m mostly just - confused. I suppose hopeful that he’s happier now, whatever he’s doing. So it’s a real mix of feelings, like most things in life. You can’t ever just pinpoint one thing, or it’d be easy.”

“True,” Gavin murmurs.

“It hasn’t put us off,” Ryan adds, and that one particular question makes his heart pound. “It was Wendy and what happened to her that made it so hard for me to move on. What happened with Ray hurt, yeah, but I didn’t lose him the same way I lost Wendy. So no, it hasn’t put _me_ off, and I doubt it has Michael, either.”

“But I know after what happened with Wendy, you’re worried about Michael getting hurt,” Gavin says. “Is it the same with Ray, still?”

Gavin’s watching him intently. Once Ryan would’ve snapped at anyone who tried to pry too deep - but they’re long past that. If anything, it’s _nice_ , that Gavin knows him well enough to ask something like that.

“Once I… I care about someone, it doesn’t just go away,” Ryan admits. “For a while, yes, I was very scared about what would happen to him. But he’s distanced himself enough, now, that I’m not scared all the time. I can’t be, it would be exhausting. I still care about him, I’m still angry he put us through that - he could’ve at least stayed in touch. But I’m not hung up about it. It just… sucks, you know?” And it’s stupid, but he can’t think of any other words for it. “That he’s out there somewhere with all our secrets… that close friendship we could’ve had, if nothing else, is just - _gone,_ and we don’t even know why. There are few enough people in the world who care so deeply. It’s a shame to lose them.”

Gavin nods sympathetically.

“Sorry about trying to run away,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have. I know it’s not the same as Ray, but…”

_It is the same,_ Ryan thinks, _you’re important to us like that, too._

“For a long time,” he replies, “I felt… unbelievably broken. I thought I would be alone forever, that I could never let myself care about somebody else. That no one would ever love me the same way she had. Michael changed all that. But I’m so used to him being around that sometimes I forget it’s possible to keep letting other people in. That I’m not still damaged goods, that things can be _good_ again, that it’s alright to trust more than just one person. With new people, it can be… a struggle. It dredges old memories up and I have to remind myself to breathe. That’s why, if at times I seem distant… it’s not because of Ray, it’s not because of you. It’s me.”

“I get that,” Gavin says, lips twisting. “There are things that should be easy that I just… just can’t do. Things I should let myself have but I just - stop myself and don’t even know why. It sucks.”

“It does,” Ryan agrees, and there’s a funny shared silence.

“Sorry,” Gavin says again then, “I didn’t mean to force you to talk about it.”

“You didn’t,” Ryan assures him. “It’s good to talk about it sometimes. Thank you.”

Gavin looks away shyly. And Ryan’s hit with nostalgia, suddenly; he remembers this - how it felt to fall for someone new. He felt it with Michael, that first day as they wandered through the whirling coloured lights at the festival, where every word felt like it was being said in a dream, some other world of flashing skies and glowing pavements where it was safe to whisper secrets, where everything mattered both more and less. He’d tentatively shared his story for the first time, and it’d hit him that it was the first time he’d spoken her name out loud since she died. He’d thought it would hurt, and tears stung at his eyes, but Michael’s warm hand gripped his arm firmly, anchoring him, and somehow it’d felt like more of a relief.

It’s the same with Gavin; it doesn’t hurt to talk. Instead each word laid down feels like brick and mortar, like building some strong, shared understanding. God, he fits with them _perfectly_. Ryan wants to help him - wants to be helped, in turn - wants this, _wants this_ , but can only stare across the table too-longingly, waiting for the right moment, for his courage to return.

 

* * *

 

**xxix. tick-tock**

_When Clayton comes to take him out, at first Gavin can't even register the silence, the quiet dark. After days of constant noise and light, his head's pounding so hard that it's almost like he can still feel the drumbeats, his body shaking from the electric shocks. He's past feeling hungry, or even tired; his whole body seems like a live wire, too sensitive._

_"There you go. All finished. I knew you could do it."_

_Someone takes the laptop from his hands and he barely even registers it. When a hand does touch his shoulder, he flinches hard, expecting pain. When it doesn't come, he blinks a few times. Only then does he realise that things are finally over, and he slumps, trembling, into Clayton's arms before he can stop himself._

_"Come on now. Didn't I tell you - if you behave yourself, then you have nothing to worry about. If you do a good job, then you don't have to be scared. You look like shit, by the way. Let's get you cleaned up and then you can sleep. You earned it."_

_His voice is kind, and his hands are tender as he pulls Gavin up and half-drags, half-carries him from the room. It's not real. Gavin knows what this is, he's not stupid, he knows what Clayton's trying to do here - but he can't resist. After days without sleep or food he feels nothing but utterly hopeless, utterly compliant. He's more exhausted than he's been in a long time, his whole body aching inside and out._

_Strength will come later._

_For now, he feels like a puppet, like nothing. All he wants is sleep, and food, and no more pain, and it’s all he can think of - all that’s consumed him, like a total darkness that will never lift-_

 

* * *

 

"You said Burnie was coming?"

They've returned to the base by now. Evening's falling and it's time for the meeting that Gavin's been waiting for. As they head for the conference room, his stomach feels like it's filled with crawling bugs. Today was good - almost good enough to help him forget everything he's been stressing over since making that fateful decision to help the Fakes.

And he's happy - with the other two by his side, he feels stronger - but still nervous, to have to face Geoff and Burnie, two men he wants so desperately to impress. He still isn't sure what he wants.

Michael nods, next to him. 

"Yeah, he said he would be. He was looking forward to seeing you again."

He smiles, and nudges Gavin with his elbow. Gavin manages a smile back, but the contact sends a pleasant jolt through him. They keep touching him, and he can't stop noticing. A hand on his back guiding him into a room, or offered when he's getting out of the car. Michael especially.

Last night, in their bed... it felt good. He felt safe sleeping for the first time in a long time. And he _does_ trust them, he has no problems there, he just... hates how he keeps wanting more. He doesn't want to rush into things, but he's scared of waiting too long.

Everything - the food, the safety, the others - it all still feels like he needs to grab things while he has the chance, in case that chance gets taken away again. And after his conversation with Ryan earlier, he's too aware of just how many cracks he has, how precariously he's holding himself together. He knows the others are broken, too. Even if they wanted him, would any of them be ready for this?

They head inside the conference room, only to pause. Right away Gavin notices that Burnie's conspicuously absent - it's Jack sitting beside Geoff, and when they look up he sees how worried they both look. His heart clenches. _Oh God, what's happening now?_

"Good, you're back," Geoff says, rising and beckoning them to sit down. "We need to talk."

"What's wrong?" Michael asks, frowning as they head over. Jack pulls up a chair for Gavin next to him, and when their eyes meet Gavin feels a shiver run down his spine. Geoff and Jack keep looking at each other, and at him, and he's seized with a sudden panic that he's done something wrong, or something bad's happened.

The others must notice his panic. They all turn to him and he bites his lip.

"Should I go?" he blurts out. "Is it - some private crew business, or..."

"No, you should be here," Geoff says - Jack's risen now and Gavin twists to look at him. He's gone to a little kitchen at the side of the room and seems to be making a cup of tea.

"Geoff, what the hell's happening? Where's Burnie?" Michael demands.

"Calm down, Gavin," Geoff says, eyes still fixed on him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out by changing our plans like this. Burnie contacted us pretty last minute that he wouldn't be able to make it. We need to talk about Gemini."

"What have they done?" Gavin whispers. "With Clayton taken out any remaining employees should've scattered."

"They did," Jack says. He comes back over to the table and sets the mug down next to Gavin; he glances at it. On the one hand it's touching that they're trying to calm him down, on the other it's only making him even more nervous. "But the Harts got wind of what happened, of course they did. And they're not happy."

"We knew this was coming," Geoff adds. "It's not a surprise. We knew when we decided to get rid of Clayton that we were starting something with them. And hell, right now we're more ready than we've ever been. We've got a fucking tank."

"But the Harts aren't going to take this lying down," Gavin whispers. A cold dread is slowly taking over him. 

"Burnie's got intel on that side of the country. He contacted us a few minutes ago with some trouble news. They're coming here," Geoff says grimly, "They're on their way right now and they're bringing something big. His contacts don't know what, but it seems like they're not gonna bide their time waiting to get revenge. They're hitting us back, right away, and they wanna do it hard."

In his peripheral, Gavin sees Michael and Ryan exchange a glance, but he can't bring himself to look up. He stares down into the steaming surface of his tea, watching the liquid ripple a little where Geoff bumped the table resting his elbows on it. It feels like the room's closing in around him.

"'Something?'" Ryan demands. "What the hell is something?"

"If we knew I wouldn't be so worried. Burnie's tracking it down now; that's why he couldn't come. But we're gonna round up our allies, get this fucking tank in order, and try and hit them before they can even get here. If we kill the twins," Geoff says, "Gemini crumbles."

"We need to get Clayton to talk," Jack adds grimly. "If we can at least get the location of this armoury out of him, we'll be in a better position. Not to mention he might be able to tell us what we're in for-"

"He won't talk," Gavin chokes out. He feels all their eyes rest heavily on him, but doesn't look up. His hands are wrapped around the mug and the heat is burning his fingers, but he barely notices. "He's not going to."

"How loyal can he be? Everyone talks eventually," Ryan says grimly. "If you hurt them enough..."

He trails off when Gavin's shoulders hunch, but it's not for the reason he thinks.

"That's the problem," Gavin whispers. "He's not scared of you. He's scared of the Harts. He's confident they'll eventually come to break him out and if they find out he spilled on them, they'll hurt him worse than you ever could. He's not protecting them - he's protecting himself."

There's a long silence.

"He'll kill himself before he lets you make him talk," Gavin murmurs. "Anyone in Gemini would. It'd be better than waiting for the twins to come and get him."

"Jesus," Michael breaths, and Gavin shrugs miserably.

"They're not like you."

"Well, we're stronger than them," Geoff says, and Gavin can tell he believes it. He wants to believe it, too. But all he feels is sick and scared, and the others' reassurances slide off his back.

"They'll cause trouble for you here," he says, and then adds, a little hysterically, "It's me who sold them out. Maybe they'd be satisfied if I-"

"Don't you dare finish that fucking sentence," Ryan snaps. When Gavin looks over at him, his eyes are blazing. "I mean it. This isn't your fault and they wouldn't be satisfied with just taking you. Not that we'd let them."

The others are nodding just as fiercely, and Gavin looks down - pleased, but still shaken.

"We're gonna figure this out," Geoff insists. "Gavin, there's no guarantee they know you sold us out. The only person who knows for sure is Clayton - anyone else probably assumes Ryan and Michael killed you. If you want to help us, then it'd be great if you could try and track down the armoury based on what you already know about Gemini's operations. Otherwise, you're welcome to lay low in the base until we sort this out. It's probably the safest place for you. I don't want you to worry, though. The Harts aren't the first powerful people we've pissed off. I'm confident we can deal with this."

Gavin doesn't know what to say. They're staying at him expectantly but all words have fled, all possible future. He'd thought there'd be at least a little more peace before the darkness came back to haunt them.

He can't stop thinking of the twins. In his mind they've grown to monstrous proportions; two pale ghouls who haunt his dreams, spectres Clayton would invoke whenever he really wanted to scare him, inhumanly powerful with sharp claws and eyes that could see into his very soul. 

"There are things they've done that the public doesn't even know about," he hears himself say. "That bus crash that killed twelve people a few months ago? Orchestrated by them to take out just one person. And no one even knows it was a gang thing. It looked like a total accident. Janica's poison gas has ended countless lives before they even knew they were in danger. When... when one of their hackers sold them out earlier this year they..."

He's choking on the words - Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off, agitated, the mere memory making him feel like he can't breathe.

"They t-took off his... his skin and then they... they must've tied the explosives to him because it... it was a small charge but it still-"

He breaks off, breathing too fast now. He can smell the blood, can feel it sticky against his skin. A boot on his back forcing him down, forcing him into it.

"Gavin," someone's saying, but the room feels too small, the air too thick. He rises abruptly, knocking over the mug of tea. It spills across the table, scalding the side of his hand, and he stares down at it, feeling somehow totally numb.

"I need some air," he says faintly, and turns and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

He goes right out, out of the base, up to the surface. Somehow being underground was starting to feel stifling. It wasn't something he'd been at all worried about before, but the sudden fear that the ground could cave in on them weighs down on him.

It feels good to breathe in the fresh air. It's evening now, and cool, and smells like impending rain. He shivers a little - it's so warm underground that he nearly forgot it's still winter outside. Being out of the safety of the base feels dangerous, makes his hair stand on end and the pit of his stomach buzz anxiously - but he hasn't ventured far out of one of the exit tunnels, lingering just in the shadows of the entrance that leads out towards the abandoned lot of an old railway station, and he knows there are guards a few metres behind him, keeping an eye on him. He shivers, brushing a few old cigarette butts off the damp, mossy wall at the edge of the tunnel, before sitting down on it and wraps his arms around himself.

He's scared.

He's scared, and he knows he shouldn't be, because for the first time in a long time there are people on his side. For the first time, this is a fight he could _win_ , and not have to run away from.

But this was meant to be something good - he felt like he was on the verge of safety, of happiness, finally - and if anyone can take it away, it's the Harts. If anyone's capable, it's them. He can't think of anyone he's more scared of.

And they're coming after his friends.

If anything happened to them because of him, he isn't sure what he'd do. And worst-case scenarios are filling his mind - Michael dying at the Harts' hands; Ryan blaming him in his grief. Or Ryan being the one to get hurt, and Michael falling back into the dark habits of his youth, Gavin too scared to stop him burning the whole damn city down-

"Hey."

He jumps a mile and looks up, hand pressed over his mouth to stifle a scream. Ryan's standing, staring down at him in concern - Gavin stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, then looks away again. He's a little surprised it isn't Michael who came after him.

He doesn't really feel like talking - but when Ryan doesn't ask him anything, he relaxes a little. And when the other man sits down next to him, it doesn't feel like an intrusion.

"Gavin," Ryan says softly, and when he looks over the other man is holding out his jacket. "You're shaking."

He doesn't have the energy to protest, and when Ryan wraps the jacket around his shoulders, he closes his eyes. It's warm from Ryan's body, and the slight weight is comforting. It feels like an embrace. There's something sweet in the gesture, something that means more than words. Ryan's arm, pressed to his, is warm too. They sit in silence for a little while and Gavin slowly feels the vice around his chest ease, just enough that he can breathe again.

"What they did to you was awful," Ryan says finally. They don't look at each other, but Gavin's listening intently. "You don't need to get over it right away."

"It just doesn't end," Gavin whispers.

"It does," Ryan says softly. "It _does._ It always does, eventually - when you have others with you to help. And you do, now, Gavin. You're not facing them alone."

"That comes with its own problems," Gavin murmurs.

"Don't I know it." 

Another long silence. 

"When I first came to Achievement City I was determined not to get too close to anyone," Ryan says. "That didn't go plan."

Gavin huffs out a laugh, and thinks he catches a small smile when he glances at Ryan.

"When I accepted that first job from Geoff, I promised myself it'd only be the one. When I joined the crew, I swore I'd never let them under my walls. And when I fell for Michael, I tried to tell myself that it wouldn't work out, anyway - that there was nothing to worry about because we were both too fucked up for it to last, so I didn't have to be scared. I've never been so glad to be wrong about something."

He touches Gavin's arm, gently, until he looks up. Ryan's looking at him with a quiet determination that seems to make everything around him steady and still, make the world stop spinning, make the buzzing clamour of his thoughts finally grow quiet.

“Neither of us are irreparably broken, Gavin. You’re hurt, yes, you’re scared, and that’s okay. But you’re stronger than you think. I’ve seen it. And it won’t always feel like this. I can promise that.” He swallows, and a sudden nervousness seems to take him over, but he pushes past it and gestures between them. “And hell, I wouldn’t normally be the one saying this. Because it… it means too much, _you_ mean too much to me. This is the part where two years ago I would’ve pulled away, too scared to let anyone close. But I don’t want to.”

Gavin’s breath catches a little. He doesn’t know if this is an admission of something, if he’s just reading the signals wrong-

But he knows he isn’t when he sees Ryan’s cheeks redden a little, sees him look away awkwardly. A small, pleased smile tugs at Gavin’s lips before he can stop it. Despite everything - it warms him, deep in his chest. After a moment he leans against Ryan, head resting on his shoulder. The other man wraps a comforting arm around him. It feels like something close to hope - like the world’s turning again slowly, like once again they’re heading somewhere.

He believes Ryan. Maybe he doesn’t _feel_ it yet, but he believes his words.

“I’ll stay,” he whispers, and feels Ryan shift in surprise. “I’ll stay. I’ll help out. I want to.”

Ryan’s arm tightens around him, and Gavin closes his eyes. He hears rain start up, faint and gentle at first, pattering on the tunnel overhead. It seems a premonition of some storm; somewhere in the darkness of the falling night the Harts are headed towards them. The wind is cold, but Ryan’s body against his is warm. He wants to stay. He knows he means it. He’s never been more certain.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**xxx. thimbles and acorns**

_There is a woman, about halfway through Gavin's captivity. They're planning a raid on another small gang in the area, intending to wipe them out and take their drugs. Gavin's job is to find a way to get them in there and deactivate their alarms system before they realise Gemini have arrived - but they need firepower, so Clayton hires a bunch of mercenaries, including some they've never worked with before._

_It's not unusual, on these type of jobs. Gavin generally ignores and is ignored by whatever thugs Clayton's scraped up. The worst ones are actually the regulars because they can get away with picking on him. Anyone sadistic enough to work regularly with Gemini is the sort who would. Everyone else tends not to care._

_She's the only woman on the team, a hard-eyed wiry figure, in her fifties at least, with close cropped white hair and a thick scar running down one of her leathery cheeks. She ignores all the other mercs; sits alone cleaning her gun and chain smoking._

_It's strange to think of what happens as kindness, because it's not, not really, not unless you set the bar ridiculously fucking low. In the lead up to the job she notices Gavin sitting alone and beckons him over, curtly. Without a word she passes him a knife and sharpening block and gives a 'make yourself useful' sort of grunt, and Gavin's too scared to refuse. He must be doing it all wrong because it seems very slippery and he nearly cuts his fingers off three times before she grabs his hands and roughly repositions them before turning back to her own work._

_"Thanks," he whispers, and thinks he sees something like a nod._

_Later that day she offers him a cigarette - wordlessly, shrugging when he declines. The next day it's a fruit jube, which he takes suspiciously, fearful of some sort of trap. It's not. Then it's a stick of gum, then a piece of dried beef jerky._

_It's stupid, because it's not like they talk. It's not like she cares about the black eye she must notice when he takes his glasses off to draw maps of the base, or intervenes when Clayton snaps at him. It's the barest possible acknowledgement that he's a bloody human being. But after weeks of being less than nothing, it's somehow enough. One tiny moment in the day that he holds on to to remember later, to turn over in his mind and let it sink in that at least someone noticed him, at least one person_ noticed _, even if after that job Clayton never hires the same group and he doesn't see her again-_

"Gavin? You still in there?"

A knock at the door makes Gavin jump nearly out of his skin. He's sitting in the empty board room, laptop in front of him and maps spread out all along the table. Only now that he's been jerked back to reality does he realise his eyes are dry and sore, and the room's much warmer than it was earlier.

_Morning_ , he thinks blearily. God, how long has he been working? Under the bright lights it was impossible to tell how much time passed, and he'd become completely absorbed in his attempt to track down the armoury, chasing up every lead he could remember from his time working for Gemini. It's the first time he's turned his abilities back on his own crew - _ex-crew_ , he reminds himself - and it was faster work than he'd anticipated. He'd forgotten until now just how much he'd managed to observe, behind the scenes as he was, unnoticed or ignored by many. Clayton had assumed he'd never escape, and so he'd spoken freely in front of him. A lot of it Gavin had absorbed without even realising.

_And now,_ he thinks, with some innate satisfaction, _it will be his undoing-_

But Michael is standing at the door watching him, and Gavin rubs his tired eyes and beckons him in.

"Hey," he says, groggily. "What time is it?"

"Just past nine. Jesus, you've been working all night?" Michael wanders over to the table and hauls himself up to sit on the edge, in one of the few clear spaces that isn't covered with scribbled maps and bits of paper. It's coming back to Gavin, now - he and Ryan had gone out somewhere with Geoff. Some sort of recon trip? He can't remember. Everything after Ryan led him back outside and he told Geoff he'd stay and help is a bit of a blur. All he'd wanted was to get right back down to work.

"I lost track of time," he admits.

Jesus, was it really nine? He can't quite believe he's been sitting here for over twelve hours, although he remembers taking a bathroom break at some point, very vaguely - like it was something that happened in a dream. Otherwise, the last day or so is all a rather concerning blur. He shakes himself - now that he's been ripped out of the steady workflow he'd fallen into, he can feel a heaviness in his limbs, a dull headache forming behind his eyes. He registers the five empty mugs on the table that he must've made at various points, and feel a little bit sick.

"I think I drank too much tea," he adds, rubbing his stomach, and Michael bursts out laughing. It makes Gavin smile. He's still getting used to this - realising it's his. Realising this is _all_ his, now.

"Fucking hell, dude. I don't even know what to say. You should've stopped for a break, we all assumed you were asleep! Was it productive?" 

He slips off the table and walks around to Gavin's side, leaning over him to look at his laptop screen. Gavin closes his eyes for a moment, drinking in the warmth of the other man's body over his shoulder, the press of Michael's fingers against his shoulder where he's gripping the back of Gavin's chair, the faint smell of his soap where he's leaning in.

"I've narrowed it down to two locations," he says. "We should check both. I'm certain it's one of these - all the clues point to it. I can't think where else in the city it might be."

"Are you serious? You already figured it out?" Michael demands, and Gavin ducks his head.

"Yes?" he ventures, a little bashfully.

"Gavin! You're incredible!" There's such genuine glee in Michael's voice that Gavin feels his cheeks heat red. Part of him is rejecting the words, unable to quite recognise that someone might genuinely be praising him. It's still such a foreign feeling. The rest of him is pleased, because he knows Michael well enough to tell he means it.

"Thanks," he murmurs shyly, and reaches out to shut the laptop, rubbing his eyes. "Could you give these locations to Geoff? I think I should sleep."

"Of course!" Michael exclaims. 

"How did... whatever you were off doing go?" He's so tired that his head feels foggy, and Michael takes his arm and pulls him from his chair, leading him towards the door.

"We were just checking our defences and surveillance around the city - warning all our allies about the Harts coming. If they do manage to hit us before we hit them, we want to be as prepared as possible. Everything's secure," Michael adds firmly, "You don't have to worry about a thing. We've got that side of it handled."

"Keep me in the loop, though," Gavin insists - he's a little reassured, but not much. The Harts aren't just brutal, they're smart - and if anyone can break into Achievement City, it's them.

"Don't worry, we will," Michael assures him.

"I mean it, Michael. Even if you think you're protecting me. I won't be upset if I know what's going on. I'll be stressed if I don't."

"Got it, Gav." Michael smiles at him, and Gavin gives a small smile back. They're headed towards the living quarters now, but he can already tell the base is busy today. A whole bunch of people he doesn't know are wandering the corridors, with fast strides and purposeful looks on their faces - associates of the crew, preparing for the coming war. He feels a bit nervous around so many unknown people, especially since they give him curious looks as they pass. They all know who he is, he thinks uncomfortably. The Shadow. But Michael's still got a hand on his arm, and Gavin presses close by his side, reassured by his presence.

"Where's Ryan?" he asks.

"Showering," Michael replies. "We were out all night so he'll probably be sleeping."

"Is he gonna go back to interrogating Clayton, later?" Gavin asks, a bit nervously.

Now that he's not occupied with his work, Clayton's popped back into his mind. He can't help it; the other man's presence is a constant anxiety. Gavin keeps imagining him somehow breaking free and coming after him, furious and hysterical, dripping with blood and brandishing an axe like it's the fucking Shining. It's stupid, he just can't help it.

Michael shakes his head.

"Geoff took it over. We're not hopeful, after what you said, but he wants to keep trying just in case we can get him to let something slip about what the Harts are planning."

"Why? I thought Ryan was the best at it," Gavin says.

Michael stops walking. He hesitates, which makes Gavin rather nervous - clearly weighing up if he wants to actually tell him what happened or not. Jesus, okay. Is it something bad? But before his mind can run away with him too much, Michael shakes himself.

"He, uh, he got a bit carried away the last time he was in there," he says. "Geoff got worried he'd go too far so he pulled him from the job."

Gavin stares at him, then looks away. Ryan's the Vagabond - he knows he's capable of violence, he's heard the stories and rumours. Hell, he thinks of how Ryan took out most of the Lost on his own. But somehow torture is different; that deliberate, systematic infliction of pain. He doesn't like to think about Ryan getting lost in that. Even if it is Clayton.

But at the same time, something about the look on Michael's face makes it pretty clear what pushed Ryan over the edge.

"Clayton's good at pressing people's buttons," he murmurs finally. "He provoked him, yeah?"

"Yeah," Michael says, and Gavin bites his lip.

"Guess this time it came back to bite him," he says, and Michael scoffs a little.

"Pretty much. Don't worry about it, though, Gavin, I promise. We're taking care of everything."

"Stop worrying that I'm worrying," Gavin manages to tease, and is pleased when Michael smiles again. Still, Gavin can't stop thinking about it, what Clayton might have managed to say to cut Ryan so deep. Hatred for the other man twists deep in his gut. He tries not to think about how some small part of him is a _little_ bit pleased that Ryan hurt him. That he got his own back, just a bit, in a way Gavin himself has still never been able to.

They reach his room and Gavin opens the door. He gets the bizarre urge to invite Michael in but has no idea what for. He's about to literally just crash, anyway.

"Any plans for the day?" he asks, a bit lamely.

Michael laughs.

"Eat. Sleep. Keep an eye on things. I'll come check on you at lunch but I think you need to sleep more than I do. And if you need to come get Ryan and I for anything, don't hesitate, alright?"

Gavin nods. Michael reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, smiling warmly at him. Gavin almost wants to ask him to stay - it's stupid, and selfish, just... he's worried the second he's alone he might suddenly break down like he did last time. It hit so out of nowhere that now he doesn't know when he might just fall to pieces again. He knows he'd sleep better with Michael there too.

But he can't exactly suddenly come out with, "Hey, Michael, wanna sleep with me?" It'd be weird. Besides, he thinks grimly, he's gotta start learning to pick himself back up, put himself back together. He can't just go running to the others all the time.

"Goodnight - well, good morning then," Michael says, then looks suddenly a little awkward. "I... there was something I wanted to chat about before, that was actually why I came looking for you-"

"What is it?" Gavin asks, heart skipping a beat.

Michael shakes his head.

"It's not urgent. It can wait until we've all slept."

"I wish you just hadn't told me," Gavin complains, "I'll be wondering now."

Michael laughs, but there's something faintly nervous to it.

"No, seriously, Gav, it's nothing bad or anything. Go rest up first. We all need clear heads. I'll see you in a bit yeah?"

Gavin nods, and watches him walk away. He's worried, but there was something in Michael's face that he thinks indicates whatever he wants to discuss, it's not something bad. He didn't seem upset - more uncertain, so Gavin tries to put it to the back of his mind, focussing instead on lying down as soon as possible. After being awake over twenty four hours straight, he's asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

 

* * *

 

Gavin must sleep through Michael coming to check on him. When he finally returns blearily to reality, it's to quietness and darkness. He fumbles for the bedside lamp and checks his phone. 10pm - he slept over twelve hours, he realises with a jolt, and sits up, rubbing his eyes.

It's a leftover habit from when he still worked with Gemini, but he's beset by the need to be constantly productive. There was always another job to work on, something else he needed to finish. He keeps thinking he still has those three jobs left to plan, and every time he realises, _oh wait, Gemini doesn't have me anymore_ , there's a slightly awkward moment in which he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He slept so deeply that if he dreamed, he doesn't remember it. But he can feel a caffeine headache coming on and despite it being nearly time to go to bed again, he wants coffee.

_I was asleep all day,_ he thinks, a little horrified, _God knows what might have changed in the meantime-_

_But they'd have woken me up if anything major happened. Right?_

His stomach growls. He's hungry, too, and realises suddenly that he hasn't eaten all day. He climbs out of bed, pulls on a t-shirt, and freezes.

Lindsay showed him to the nearest kitchen in the base on her tour, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was to help himself to anything he wanted from there. But he still feels a bit self-conscious about the thought of strolling out of this room on his own and just wandering around like he owns the damn place. Any time he goes somewhere without one of the others he's still constantly a bit worried that someone he doesn't know will confront him and demand to know what he's doing, and he's not sure how he'd explain if they did.

He hesitates by the door, chewing his lip bloody and trying to work up the courage to move. But his stomach growls, and he thinks of how he worked up the nerve to go to Michael and Ryan the other night, and that all worked out fine, didn't it? He takes a deep breath, and creeps out into the hall.

 

* * *

 

Aside from more security guards being around than usual, there's no sign of anyone else in the halls. There's something peaceful about that; Gavin's still a little on edge as he makes his way to the kitchen where he eats two bowls of cereal, but he's starting to feel less like he's broken in somewhere he's not allowed to be.

He wanders back towards the living quarters after that. There's a light on in Michael and Ryan's room, he can see it under the door, and he barely has to think about it before going to knock. 

He can hear the faint murmur of voices - they're awake then, and talking - it stops and a few moments later Ryan opens the door. He's wearing a dressing gown, which for some reason makes Gavin giggle, and smiles when he sees him.

"Gav! Come in. You're awake!"

"Yeah, I've been up for about half an hour."

"Long nap," Ryan says, with a smile. "I passed out for a bit as well. Come in, I'll catch you up on what's happening tomorrow."

Gavin walks into the room and before long he's curled up on the couch under a throw blanket, Michael perched on the armrest next to him. Ryan makes them all cups of tea and they sit around the coffee table as he tells them how Geoff's taken two groups out to raid the locations Gavin found tonight, and tomorrow they're gonna be moving the tank to wherever Burnie's intel informs them that Harts are coming from. There's still no word on what their secret weapon might be, but they're trying hard to track anything that might be approaching the city.

Gavin nods along. He doesn't have to do anything until tomorrow, so for now it all feels a little unreal - something for the future to deal with. It's nice in the others' room, cosy and warm, and he watches as Michael gets up and goes to sit next to Ryan, resting a head on his shoulder. Something like envy stirs in him as he watches the way they nestle together and Ryan drapes his arm easily around the other man. It's silly, because it's not like they haven't been touching him, too, all week. He just wants more, suddenly, and curls up on the couch, tugging the blanket closer around him.

"Michael," he says, remembering suddenly, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about before?"

Both of them freeze, and glance at each other in a way that makes it pretty damn clear that whatever it is they want to talk about, it's something both of them have in mind. Not just Michael.

"Oh," Michael says, and sits up a bit, though Ryan stays pressed close to his side. "That."

Gavin nods, peering at them curiously. Michael takes a deep breath, then gets up and wanders over to sit next to Gavin instead - just not quite close enough to touch. Gavin bites his lip, too nervous to shift over and close the space between them.

"Ryan and I were... talking about a few things the other night," he says.

"What things?" Gavin asks. "Have I done something?"

His heart's pounding and some of his fear must show on his face. Michael quickly shakes his head.

"No! No, you haven't done anything. You're good. You're perfect. It's nothing like that. We've just been thinking... God, I'm not sure if this is the right time to even bring it up-"

"You already mentioned it so please continue. You're already freaking me out," Gavin says, and Michael nods.

"Right. Sorry. I'm fucking this all up already, just... what you said before, after we - after we kissed, back at the house?"

Gavin's whole body seems to freeze. Everything's been so nice the last few days, not awkward at all. He’d thought they weren’t going to bring that up again, that it'd be a 'forget this ever happened' type of deal. Even if it's been on his mind, popping in now and then whenever Michael gets too close to him - he hadn't thought it was something the other man was thinking about.

And while part of him knows that based on how they've behaved the last few days, this is something that's gonna go _well_ \- he can't help but that irrational nagging fear that maybe they've argued about it, maybe it's still making them uncomfortable, maybe he's managed to misread every signal he thought he noticed the last few weeks.

"What did I say again?" he manages weakly. His head seems to have gone completely blank.

"Hey - calm down. This isn't something bad," Michael says, and smiles. "I promise, at the end of this conversation nothing's gonna be different."

"Promises are just words," Gavin replies, a bit hysterically, "What did I _say,_ Michael? I can't remember."

Michael glances back over at Ryan. Both of them look a bit distressed - clearly this isn't going to be the calm conversation they hoped, and Gavin doesn't know if that makes him want to laugh or cry. Of course he can't just stay calm.

"You said you... you said you didn't mean to do it, that you weren't thinking straight and got what you were feeling all mixed up," Michael says.

He remembers now. And God, even if he had meant it at the time - and he hadn't - he sure doesn't now. Things have only become clearer, these last few golden days together. There was no mix-up about the way he’s been looking at them - about what he wants.

Michael swallows. He keeps looking at Ryan like he's hoping the other man will jump in and speak, but  Ryan's just watching them quietly. Gavin can't read the look on his face.

"And I said okay, but I... I kissed you back, Gavin."

"That's something between you and Ryan-"

"No, it's something between all three of us," Michael pushes on, "Because the last few days have been... _different._ Haven't they?"

Gavin looks down. He doesn't know what Michael's getting at, here. He knows what he _wants_ him to be getting at, but he can't trust that. He can't let it blind him. He can't be _sure._

"I promise, Gavin, if we've read everything all wrong and you don't want this, we're not gonna push. It won't change anything. We're all adults here, we can take being turned down - we'll still be friends and nothing's gonna go wrong. And like I said, this is probably the worst fucking timing with the Harts on their way here, but we thought it was better to make things clear right now than let them linger and get even more confused, because now is also not a good time for people to not know where they all stand with each other..." 

He trails off, catching his breath. Gavin can only stare at him with wide eyes; his stomach is doing somersaults but it's... almost reassuring how nervous Michael sounds. Like Gavin's not the only one here who's fucking terrified of everything going wrong.

He opens his mouth to ask something -  like "what?" or "and?" - but not a single word comes out. 

"I kissed you back because I wanted to," Michael admits then, "Because I like you. Ryan wasn't mad because he... he kinda saw it coming. Since then we've both been thinking about it. I'm not saying anything has to happen, especially not right now, but we just wanted to know - did you really mean it? Because if you don't want this then I don't want either of us to accidentally push you or make you feel uncomfortable just because we misjudged the situation. We just want to make sure we know what we're doing so we can be careful."

Gavin stares at him. Yet again, it's everything he wanted. Yet again, he can't move, and has no idea what to say. It's sinking in slowly that he had nothing to worry about, that they like him too-

_They like him too._

Not just Michael, but Ryan. These last few days, his stupid fantasies that their outings were dates, all of it could be real. A new future opening up before him, one where the base becomes home, the crew family, Michael and Ryan _his._

Somehow, despite everything, they like him too. Him!

"Gavin?" 

It's Ryan's voice that prompts him, and when Gavin looks over at him the other man is leaning forward, a shy smile on his face. Gavin smiles back. This must be hard for Ryan, too - taking this step. He appreciates their bravery.

"I didn't mean it," he says quietly. "I was just scared. The last few days have been... really, _really_ good."

He sees the way Michael's whole body relaxes, and starts laughing suddenly.

"Sorry," he manages, "Just - I was so nervous. It's stupid, I know I shouldn't be, but-"

"No, it's understandable," Michael begins, but it's such a relief to see him smiling again that Gavin can only laugh harder.

"When you said you needed to talk I just didn't expect this. Not so soon. It's good," he adds, when Michael looks worried again, "You're right, it's a relief to know. I thought it'd take longer before everything came clear."

"Good," Michael says, and slumps back against the couch. "Phew! I was shitting myself, you know? I thought all the words would come out wrong and I'd fuck everything up. Thanks for the help, Ryan," he adds, but his voice is teasing rather than properly angry, and Gavin-

Gavin just can't stop smiling. Part of him wants to apologise to Michael because if he wasn't so fucked up this wouldn't be such a big deal, Michael wouldn't be so stressed about it, but he knows that'll only upset the other man, so he bites his tongue, and instead lets himself enjoy this.

_They like you._

_They want this, too. It's not just a dream._

"Like Michael said," Ryan says, and he rises too then, and walks over. "Nothing has to happen right away, but I'm glad we cleared that up."

Gavin nods, a little sheepishly.

_What if I want it to happen right away?_ he thinks, but kicks himself. _You're not ready, don't be stupid. Just because you want something doesn't mean it's what's best for you-_

_Who knows what's best for me? I'd rather not wait-_

_It might be too much-_

_If I don't let myself get on with my life then I'll never get anywhere. And I'll keep worrying if they've changed their minds._

_Yeah, well, what about the two of them? Maybe they want to wait. Maybe they'd prefer not to rush into things. It's not all about you, idiot._

Still - the others are smiling too, and the room feels different, now. Like something's shifted - for the better, he thinks - and there's a nervous excitement between the three of them. He likes it. He spent so long worrying about the future that it's nice to instead see it as something to look forward to - and rather than make him more scared of the Harts fucking things up, it's instead made him more determined to beat them. Something to live for, after all.

"Bathroom," Michael announces then, unceremoniously, "And then let's watch a movie or something. No thinking about work tonight."

"Off to take a stress dump?" Ryan asks, and Gavin bursts into a fit of giggles. Michael scowls at him.

"Can you not? He's trying to embarrass me in front of you," he adds, glancing at Gavin, "The worst wingman. The worst boyfriend-wingman in existence."

"You embarrass yourself enough without my help," Ryan says, and Michael gives him the finger before wandering out of the room. Ryan takes his place on the couch next to Gavin, who smiles at him a bit shyly. He wants to lean closer but he also wants Ryan to make the first move. After a moment, the other man gently touches his shoulder.

"Is this okay?" he asks, such sweet concern in his voice.

"What?" Gavin asks.

"Touching you. I know we've been doing it a lot but if it gets too much-"

"It's fine," Gavin cuts in, "I don't want you to stop."

"Okay," Ryan says, and bites his lip. "Sorry if it seems like we're worried all the time. We just don't want to fuck things up."

"I appreciate it," Gavin says softly, and leans into him when Ryan wraps an arm around his shoulders. "But it's fine. I trust you guys. I know if I told you to stop, you would. And I like it," he adds, something a little too desperate in it, "It's nice being touched. For a long time no one did, not nicely at least. So it's good."

"Okay," Ryan repeats with a small smile, and Gavin smiles back, tugging the blanket up closer over both of them. There's a pause, but more words bubble up then, before he can stop them.

"I know we're meant to take things slowly," he blurts out, "But sometimes I... I overthink things too much. If that makes sense."

He feels Ryan relax against him.

"Me too," the other man admits, "After what happened with Wendy, I can't stop running every worst case scenario over in my head. It happened with Michael and it happened with Ray. A few times back when we were first getting together, it nearly ruined us. I thought we should take things slow but it just gave me too much time to fret over it."

"Exactly," Gavin whispers.

"And I mean, I don't want to rush into things, but I also don't want to hold back. So it's a lose-lose situation."

"Is it?" Gavin prompts, before he can really stop himself. Ryan pauses, and looks down at him. Their eyes meet for a long moment and his face is so close that Gavin's whole body seems to tingle with anticipation - overly aware of how warm Ryan is against him, and how he's trying to control his own breathing so it's not obvious that he's trying not to shake.

He sees Ryan's eyes flicker to his lips, then back up. Sees him swallow, his hesitation. Gavin gives a small smile - and that seems to encourage Ryan. He reaches up and cups Gavin's cheek gently - Gavin closes his eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand, and a moment later he hears Ryan take a deep breath, feels him lean in. He pauses, hovering close - it isn't until Gavin looks up and meets his eyes that he finally closes the gap between them.

There's something less desperate to it than when he kissed Michael. Maybe it's because things have built up the last few days, maybe because there's no uncertainty about it. Ryan's much stronger than him, but Gavin feels nothing but safe as he lets his eyes fall shut again, tilting his head and letting his lips part wider. God, but Ryan's a good kisser - and when his hand caresses Gavin's jaw and his thumb presses against the sensitive skin just behind his ear, he gasps a little, reaching up to grip Ryan's shoulders tightly.

They pull apart, breathless, but Gavin doesn't feel panicked like last time. Just sort of fluttery and happy, and when he meets Ryan's eyes and they exchange a smile, he laughs again. Ryan pulls him against his chest, and it feels weird to _hug_ , after that, but Gavin smiles and burrows closer into him.

"That okay?" Ryan asks.

"More than."

"So much for taking it slow," Michael's voice rings out behind them, but Gavin can hear how pleased he sounds. A moment later he sits down behind Gavin and rubs his back, gently. Gavin turns and finds him grinning, and feels flooded with a sudden, intense warmth. Everything feels so _easy_ , like it's just falling into place on its own and he doesn't have to worry about it, at least not right now.

He leans in and kisses Michael's cheek, and the other man laughs, hugging him closer for a moment before reaching for the TV remote.

"Come on, let's find a good movie, make some popcorn or something. I think we all need to wind down a bit." 

Gavin smiles as he burrows deeper into the blanket, sandwiched between the two of them; it was good to clear the air, but he’s glad they’re not gonna keep talking about it, now - and glad that for once he feels like he knows where he sits with them, that things have fallen into a comfortable ease, and for once it feels like everything’s not on the brink of falling apart.

 

* * *

 

**xxxi. the ghosts**

_At the time Michael doesn't know it, but both he and Ryan have a very similar moment right after that first night._

_His head's dizzy with the colourful, flashing glow of the light festival, dancing behind his eyelids as he stumbles back into his flat and leans against the wall, breathing heavily. He reaches up and touches his lips, feels a lingering, warm touch and thinks,_ fuck _._ Fuck, fuck, fuck-

What have I gotten myself into?

_He wants this, of course. It's hardly his first time dating and a few other times he's had a go at relationships, but they never worked out. This feels different,_ Ryan _is different, and he feels like the whole world is moving too fast because he_ wants _this, he wants it so badly-_

_But he keeps thinking of how much they said to each other today, all the secrets that finally came spilling out after weeks of growing more comfortable with one another in the crew. He told Ryan things that he's never told anyone else before, and he heard things he'd never known too._

Wendy. _He'd seen the deep pain still in Ryan's eyes as he spoke about her, and everything about the other man suddenly seemed to become much clearer. God, the other man is so broken, he knows the wounds haven't fully healed, and he has no idea how much harder it's gonna make this-_

And you can't do that to him. You can't be with him, not when you're so fucked up yourself. It wouldn't be fair. The last thing he needs is someone who's still hung up on their past like you are, someone who's hurt others-

Someone whose old gang would've done the exact same fucking thing to Wendy in that situation. You're the sort of bad guy that he hates. 

_Ryan hadn't cared when Michael told him - but who knew how that would change if he looked up the Lost and realised the full extent of the shit they used to do? The more he thinks about it, the more a looming dread starts to hang over him that there's no fucking way this can work, no way at all, and he'd be doing Ryan more harm than good by letting this continue. No matter how much he wants it, no matter how his heart's still fluttering and he longs to feel the other man's hands on him again, no matter how good it felt to share his story and see nothing but understanding in someone else's eyes-_

Stop this.

_He wants to run, away from the crew and the city, to leave it all behind him like he did all those years ago. If he did it once, he could do it again, and it'd be easier than having to face up to how shattered he is, how damaged both of them are-_

_But he can't move. He's rooted by his own need, by how_ good _things are here, how for the first time his life seems to be looking up. Maybe it's selfish, but he can't help it. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths._

I'll sleep on it _, he thinks_ , things might be clearer in the morning, or when I see Ryan again.

_Little does he know that halfway across the city, Ryan's sitting on the bathroom floor of his apartment, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them and head down, struggling to breathe, thinking of running as far and as fast as he can, scared of how much he wants to stay-_

"Still nothing?"

Waiting for intel is never fun, and as Michael lowers the phone with a sigh and sinks back against the couch, he feels his skin crawl, practically itching to get out there and do something, _anything_. Having to wait for the enemy to come to them is torturous.

Still - everyone else in the crew is at least being productive. Geoff's still out finding the armoury, and Burnie's bringing the tank over, and the rest of them are out on various sorts of patrols. But both Michael and Ryan are still healing enough from their previous injuries that Geoff doesn't want them out in the field, so they're stuck back at the base for now, with instructions to monitor communications between everyone and pass on any relevant messages.

At least it means they get some quiet time with Gavin.

Michael shoves his phone away and heads out into the main area of the apartment. He can hear the others in there, talking and laughing, and smiles as he wanders over to sit with them around the table.

Gavin stayed over in their room last night. He fell asleep on the couch and they didn't want to wake him. It felt a bit weird just leaving him there and going to bed together, but he hadn't seemed to mind, and now as Michael sits beside him and casts him a small smile, he feels his heart warm.

This all feels too easy.

Maybe it's because they just lived together for several weeks in a small safehouse, but there's something so natural about the way Gavin fits into their space. The table's covered in a spread of croissants and jam, tea and coffee and freshly cut fruit, and Gavin's hair is messy and sticking up all over the place like a duck's bottom, and Michael can tell even at a glance that he's happy. His shoulders are relaxed and his smile calm in a way it isn't usually. Ryan's smiling, too, and when their eyes meet Michael sees the hope and joy in them.

He's glad. It would be easy to be scared of where all this is going, especially with the Harts on the way. He likes that they can just try and enjoy it, instead.

"Geoff's got nothing for us to do, then?" Ryan asks, as Michael reaches to help himself. He's glad that Gavin seems to have no qualms about taking the food, not here and now at least. 

"No. Just stay close to the base and make sure we listen out for any updates. If anything happens we pass it on to him and Burnie."

Ryan grimaces.

"Feels weird just sitting around when we know what's coming."

"He said our job is to heal so we can kick ass later, so." Michael shrugs a bit, rubbing his stomach. The wound from the Lost still hurts, but it's closing up and the stitches will be able to come out soon. Still, it's gonna leave a hell of a scar, in a pretty damn ugly place - not that either he or Ryan cares.

_Or Gavin, now,_ he thinks, catching himself, and feels that excited thrill of remembering something new you're looking forward to. _After all, it's all three of us._

"Does he need me to do anything?" Gavin pipes up.

Michael shakes his head.

"No, but he'll let you know if he does. He said you did a good job with those armouries. They found it last night and he's busy transferring all the ordnance from it back to our own bases," he adds, and Gavin's face flushes with pleasure.

"I'm glad it worked out. What about Clayton?" he adds, hesitantly. "Still nothing?"

"Geoff's dealing with it," Ryan says, "He'll decide what to do."

Gavin nods. Still - he doesn't seem upset, so Michael isn't too worried.

"What should we do today, then?" he asks. "Gavin? Anything you want to check out?"

"I don't mind," Gavin replies, then adds, a little shyly, "I thought maybe you guys could teach me something."

"Teach you?" Ryan asks, perking up.

Gavin nods.

"I know what I'm good at," he says, "But if the Harts are on their way I want to be prepared. I'm not great with a gun and I'm not even very good at driving - the sort of things I'll need on heists and such."

Michael perks up. He knew Gavin was planning to stick around, but somehow hearing him say something like that makes it seem even more real. _He'll be joining us on heists, now. All of us, together - planning, pulling it off, the celebrations after_ \- the last few weeks' jobs have been so stressful that it was easy to forget just how much fun they all usually have together.

"Yes!" he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. "I can teach you some combat skills."

"I can teach you to throw knives," Ryan adds, and Gavin laughs.

"That's a bit of a dramatic skill!" he cries.

"It's all about the theatre," Ryan replies indignantly, "Reputation does half the work for you. And if you can do something in style, why would you choose not to?"

"Fair enough," Gavin says, and Ryan raises a finger thoughtfully.

"But first," he declares, "Let me teach you how to ride a motorbike. You're gonna need a way to get around the city."

Gavin looks dubious, but then he nods.

"Let's start slowly, though," he says, and Ryan raises his hands.

"Don't worry, we'll do it out in the car park. No going out onto the road just yet. I'll take you through everything carefully." He grins. "It'll be a lot more convenient than that bicycle of yours."

Gavin smiles, though it's a little strained.

"Hey, it was quite the leg work out," he points out, but shrugs. "I'll be glad for something faster. Okay, we can do that today."

Michael smiles, and gets up to put his plate away. Ryan catches his wrist as he passes where he's sitting.

"You didn't give me my good morning kiss," he says - Michael rolls his eyes, but leans in and pecks him on the lips. When he looks over, Gavin's watching him with his head tilted like a curious bird, and Michael laughs.

"C'mere?" he says - an offer more than anything else, and when he sees Gavin smile he knows he made the right call. Gavin leans across the table and Michael reaches out to grab his shoulder, steadying himself as their lips meet.

Their first kiss was rushed, and so fraught with awkward tension that he hasn't been able to even really enjoy the memory. This is soft now, and gentle, and he isn't overly aware of the stinging of his wounds or the alcohol buzzing in his blood. This is Gavin, just Gavin, leaning eagerly into him, his hands warm where they clasp Michael's cheeks, tasting of the strawberries he's just eaten. Gavin who smiles when they pull apart, his eyes very warm.

_I could get used to this_ , Michael thinks.

 

* * *

 

He lingers around in the car park with the others for a bit, watching them, laughing over Ryan's attempts at teaching. The other man is forever patient and Gavin seems to be enjoying himself. Then Geoff texts Michael to go and check on something for him, and he ends up back inside.

Burnie's sent a few people over to deal with Clayton for them, and Michael hasn't been back there since. Lindsay's meant to be monitoring things, and when he goes to bring her a message from Geoff he pauses as he steps into the observation room where she's looking through the window.

"Oh, Jesus," he breathes - Lindsay turns towards him and her eyes widen.

"Michael - what are you doing here?"

"Message from Geoff," he replies, distractedly. His feet are already taking him over to the window - he presses a hand to the glass before he can stop himself, unable to look away even if it feels like his stomach has dropped down into his boots. "Fuck. Fucking hell-"

"You don't have to be here. Let's go outside." She's pulling at his arm, but he shakes her off. His heart's pounding. He can hear Clayton's weak groans from here - the other man's past screaming now, apparently - he doesn't know where the hell Burnie dug these people up, but it's worse than anything he's seen Ryan do. Nearly as bad as some of the shit he did as a teenager. Bile rises in his throat.

This time Lindsay's yank on his shoulder is more insistent; he turns around and she clasps his face until his eyes meet hers. Whatever she sees makes her frown, and she wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him from the room.

Out in the corridor the flickering fluorescent lights make his head spin. He leans against the wall and Lindsay rubs his shoulder; he leans into her automatically. 

"We didn't want you in there," she says after a moment. "Or Gavin, or Ryan. None of you."

"I can handle it," he begins automatically, but she scoffs.

"You're shaking, Michael. I know you can handle it. I know you've seen worse. That's why we _didn't_ want you in there, not after all this. Talk to me."

He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Just made me remember," he manages to choke out. "Got a bit too intense for a second."

"Michael..." she trails off, lost for words, worried - but Michael gathers himself and opens his eyes.

"I'm fine," he assures her, and smiles, and moves on to give her the message quickly. She doesn't push, and he appreciates it - but as soon as he's alone he pauses, suddenly unable to head back out there.

They're being so careful with Gavin that for a little while he didn't think about the fact that he's just as fucked up. That Ryan is, too. It just takes certain other moments to trigger it-

And only days ago, he killed Dodger. 

Only days ago he felt warm blood, his brother's blood, spill across his hands, and watched his last gurgling breaths. He feels like he's going to be sick, but can't move, standing there breathing like he's just run a fucking marathon. He doesn't want to go back out to join the others, suddenly - doesn't want to _contaminate_ them with this when right now they're both free of all their worrying.

_One or the other of us will always be bringing the rest down,_ he thinks, and regrets it immediately - it's a stupid, ugly thought that he doesn't even mean, but it popped into his head before he can stop it, and he feels terrible. Especially because he knows it's not Gavin's fault, or Ryan's, but Michael? Michael's the one who got himself into this fucking mess, and all the blood on his hands is there because of the choices _he_ made, and it feels nearly too heavy to carry sometimes. He doesn't go back outside, but heads to his room instead, where he lies down for a while and plays music, trying to drown out all his other thoughts, sickened when his mind keeps drifting back to blood and fat and bone.

 

* * *

 

The guilt passes after a while, as it always does. He knows it will never go away entirely, but he's learned to push past it. The base is quiet when he emerges, and there are no messages from Geoff. Ryan isn't here, and Michael heads over to Gavin's room instead, expecting to find them there. When he knocks, Ryan answers.

"Shhh," the other man whispers - Michael stares at him quizzically, but then he hears the faint rise and fall of Gavin's voice in the adjoining bedroom. "He's on the phone."

"To who?" Michael replies, as he slips in and Ryan shuts the door behind him. Gavin's quarters are still clinically bare; he hasn't spread his stuff around the room yet, and his new clothes are still in the plastic shopping bags, in a neat line on the floor against the wall. Michael hopes he will soon; it will make things seem comfortingly permanent. Then again, Gavin hasn't got all that many possessions yet.

"Dan," Ryan says, and Michael feels his spirits lift. He sits down on the couch - not meaning to eavesdrop, but unable to help catching snatches of their conversation from the next room. Gavin's speaking so fast that he can barely make out the words, and his accent sounds even stronger than it usually does, but everything he does manage to catch sounds good. Gavin's voice is bright and happy, and he's saying things like "Yes, it's good" and "I really do think so" and "You'd like 'em, Dan."

His eyes meet Ryan's, and they exchange a smile.

"They've been on the phone for nearly two hours now," Ryan whispers, and Michael laughs. The sound of his voice must catch Gavin's attention - there's a brief pause, then he seems to be winding up the conversation. A few moments later he emerges from the bedroom, his eyes bright and face flushed happily.

"Need a drink of water?" Ryan asks, amused. "Your voice must be going after all that."

Gavin laughs, but he looks so pleased that it lifts Michael's spirits immediately, especially when Gavin's sparkling eyes catch his.

"Yes please," he says, and Ryan goes to get him some. He wanders over to the couch and sits down. "Michael, you disappeared before, Michael."

The fondness in his voice every time Gavin says his name eases something in his chest.

"Had a headache," he replies, "I just wanted to lie down for a bit. But I'm fine now. How's Dan?"

Gavin's smile grows wider and even more brilliant.

"He was really happy to hear from me," he says, leaning in closer to speak to Michael more intently. "I'd been worried he thought I forgot or abandoned him, but he didn't. He was keeping tabs on AC news and he suspected I was the Shadow but he never knew for sure. He's horrified I was a captive for so long, of course, but when I explained I was with the Fakes now he was pleased. He said he wanted to come looking for me, but things got hectic in England and he wasn’t able to leave.”

“He must have been pretty scared for you,” Michael says, and Gavin nods, looking a little sad.

“Yeah. I’m glad we can stay in touch, now.”

“Do you want to go back?” Michael can’t help asking, and Gavin looks up at him, biting his lip.

“I… he told me a lot’s changed. Hanson got offed by someone so I don’t have to worry about the bounty anymore. But there’s nothing in England for me now except Dan. I’d like to go back one day, to visit him and see how things are, but… not on my own.”

There’s a shy hesitance in it, and Michael reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

“Hey - it’s been on my bucketlist, and Ryan’s, for a while now. Geoff’s good about giving us time to go sort out our personal shit. If you want us to help you plan a trip back, if you want us to go with you, then I’m more than happy to.”

Gavin’s face lights up.

“I’d love that,” he admits. “Thank you, Michael.”

Michael starts to shrug, but a moment later Gavin’s leaning in and hugging him. Michael squeezes him back tightly, pressing himself as close to Gavin as he can before he can stop himself; after feeling so shaken earlier, he wants the comfort too, and buries his face in Gavin’s shoulder.

This is good.

His past is ugly, but what they have here and now - building each other up, _being there_ \- that’s good, and he can’t bring himself to regret it. The urge to run might always be somewhere in the shadows of his mind, but nowadays, he thinks, he doesn’t need to let it rule him, and he holds Gavin closer and lets himself _have this_ \- lets himself believe that both of them deserve it.

 

* * *

 

Evening falls with nothing eventful happening. Michael's relieved, but the sense of waiting that hangs over them all is stressful as fuck. The tank's in position in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, but the Harts have gone dark. Burnie's contact on the inside is planning to probe into where they might be, and Geoff's called a group meeting tomorrow, but until then they're left with their thumbs up their arses waiting for any news.

Jeremy and Lindsay insisted on taking Gavin out to dinner. Michael's happy that he's getting to know the rest of the crew, and that he didn't even seem too nervous about it.

It also means he and Ryan get some alone time.

It feels shitty to think it, since it's the three of them now - or he wants it to be - and he's not tired of Gavin or anything, far from it. 

But he'd inadvertently interrupted them the other night, and Michael's been waiting for a chance to get Ryan alone to continue where they left off. The last damn thing they wanna do is push Gavin into being intimate right away, but they don't want to leave him out either, not when he could take it the wrong way very quickly, so this night off is a good chance for them to retreat back to their own room and finally relax.

"Feels like ages ago, doesn't it," Ryan asks afterwards, when they're cuddling together after cleaning up. He's tracing gentle circles on Michael's stomach, careful to avoid his still-healing scar. "When we were joking about trying to bang with Gavin in the house."

"God, it does." Everything before all this - before meeting him, before realising it was the Lost - feels like a distant memory. It's strange to think that they had no idea what was coming - how when they were sat around complaining about working with Gemini they had no fucking clue that their lives - and relationship - were about to totally change.

"The last few years in general seem to have gone by fast," Ryan replies, and bites his lip. "We were together, then there was Ray, now there's Gavin..."

"Don't tell me you're getting nostalgic already," Michael says - vaguely teasing, but a little worried, too. He and Ryan work so well together that he hadn't really thought much about the potential problems adding Gavin could cause _their_ relationship.

"Not really, just... no matter what happens here, I'll always love you," Ryan says, so seriously that Michael sits up a little where he was resting on the other man's chest and turns to face him. "Things with Gavin are different - not _less,_ but different. But Michael, you pulled me out of a really dark place all those years ago. I can't thank you enough for that. Nothing will change because of this. I need you to know that."

Michael smiles, touched.

"Of course I know, idiot," he says fondly. "And likewise - I know I... I was the one who kind of made a move on Gavin first, but... like you said, things are different with him. Unique. Doesn't make what we have any less special. I love you, too."

He sees Ryan's shoulders relax a little, and smiles, leaning in to kiss him, relishing the feeling of the other man's strong arms around him, the warmth of his bare chest pressed to Michael's, how familiar it all feels by now. They pull apart and Michael clambers out of the bed.

"Wine and Game of Thrones?" he prompts, and Ryan pulls a face.

"If we spill it the sheets will be ruined."

"Dude, we just fucked in them, they're going in the wash anyway."

"A giant red stain is a bit different," Ryan protests, and Michael laughs as he wanders out to the main living area to grab the drinks.

"Hey, how long are we planning to stay at base, anyway? All your houseplants have probably died by this point."

"At least until this job with the Harts is over," Ryan calls back. "Probably a few weeks longer. I don't want to leave Gavin here alone until he's totally comfortable with the others. If we're not here he might get worried about taking stuff from the kitchen, things like that."

"Good point," Michael says.

There's a knock at the door and he turns, glancing down to make sure he remembered to put his boxers back on before going to open it. As he expected, it's Gavin - he's still dressed in the clothes he wore out, a blue button down and nice jeans. It's always a bit of a surprise seeing him in something other than his ratty old black clothes. With his hair spiked up and a new pair of sunglasses hooked in the collar of his shirt, he looks nice in a way that makes Michael's stomach flutter.

"Hey," Michael says, opening the door wider. He nods at the sunnies. "Let me guess, gift from Jeremy."

Gavin nods happily, springing into the room. He seems pretty energetic for this time of night, but given how tired he was for so long earlier, Michael's glad to see it.

"Yep! He has so many pairs that he said I could have one."

"It's the middle of the night, what's he giving you sunglasses for?"

"For _tomorrow_ , Michael," Gavin says, only to pause and raise an eyebrow. "You're naked and holding wine."

"I'm not naked," Michael protests, kicking the door shut gently. "I've got shorts on."

"You're in your undies, Michael. Did I interrupt you?" Gavin looks a bit awkward suddenly, and even more so when Ryan emerges from the bedroom. He's at least pulled his pajama pants on, but it's pretty fucking clear what they were up to, and Gavin's cheeks burn red. "Oh shit, sorry, I didn't... I can go, if you’re in the middle of something."

"We're not," Ryan says with a smile, "Unless drinking wine in bed and watching Game of Thrones counts."

"You _were_ , then," Gavin says pointedly, and Michael exchanges a helpless glance with Ryan.

"Sorry," he begins, a bit awkwardly, "We just - we didn't want to push you into anything so..."

"Oh, I'm not cross that you banged without me," Gavin replies, and looks a bit embarrassed again. "And thanks, I... I appreciate that. If you need alone time I won't feel excluded or anything. This is all so new still. But I don't want you to have to put up with me lurking around if you were in the middle of something else.”

"We're not 'putting up' with you," Ryan assures him, and reaches back into the bedroom to grab a hoodie, slinging it on over his shoulders and heading out to join them in the main room. "Come on, we'll watch it out here instead. Where'd they take you for dinner?"

Gavin relaxes, glancing at Michael and seeming reassured by his smile, and before long they're curled up on the couch together, sipping wine and talking distractedly. They end up watching the Bachelorette instead, but they're only half-paying attention, making occasional snide comments about the various contestants. Gavin's next to Michael and pressed against his side, and he keeps catching the other man flicking glances at him and then blushing a little. He's still got no shirt on - it's warm enough under the throw blanket that he's fine without one - and he's a bit too aware of how the other man's leaning against him.

Gavin downs the rest of his wine and leans back against the couch, smiling. It must've relaxed him, though he's far from drunk, and after a moment Michael carefully curls an arm around his waist. Gavin turns to him and smiles.

"You're warm, Michael," he coos, and there's such genuine affection in his mouth that a wide smile splits across Michael's face. Gavin's usually so hesitant that it's... nice, seeing him so open for once, especially as he reaches out a moment later and touches Michael's cheek fondly.

"Yeah?" Michael prompts, and Gavin smiles a bit.

On-screen, the Bachelorette is staring into the eyes of one of her suitors, a clear favourite who's had double the screentime of the others. The music is swelling along with the sexual tension. He's divulging some sort of tragic backstory that is somehow remarkably similar to her own as she nods along, eyes brimming with sympathetic tears, touching his arm now and then whenever the camera cuts to a wide shot.

Michael tunes all of it out. Gavin's still staring at him and when Michael sits up a bit, the blanket falls away from his shoulders. Gavin glances down at him, and then seems to gather his courage; he reaches out and puts one hand on Michael's chest, fingers resting lightly over his heart, tracing a faint scar from a decades old wound. Michael shivers a little.

"Is this fine?" Gavin whispers.

Ryan's watching them; Michael can feel his eyes on him. But he swallows, and nods.

"Of course," he replies softly. Gavin's hand trails down his chest and settles on his hip; Michael swallows, his whole body tingling, and leans in to kiss him.

Something feels different tonight, more heated. Maybe it's the wine spreading warmth through his blood, maybe he's sensitive after being with Ryan, maybe it's the new cologne he can smell on Gavin as their lips meet. But it feels more real, like he's more aware of every inch of his own skin and everything he can feel of Gavin - his hand against the other man's jaw as he deepens the kiss, how pliant Gavin goes under him, easy and trusting as he lets Michael lead the way.

They break apart, breathing heavily, and Michael meets Gavin's wide green eyes.

"This okay?" he asks, voice rough, and Gavin nods.

"More than okay," he says, and lets Michael press him back against the couch cushions.

This isn't going anywhere. He knows it, Gavin knows it, there's no pressure there. But it's nice to take the time to grow used to each other - to hear Gavin's gasp and feel him shiver as he presses kisses along his jaw and down his neck with just the gentlest scrape of teeth - to feel Gavin's own fingers exploring down his shoulders and over his back, feather-light touches that at once frustrate and delight him. He feels Ryan's hands settle on his waist and the other man press a kiss to his back and in that moment, pressed between the two of them, he sees exactly how they can all fit together; it feels right, feels whole.

He leans back into Ryan, tugging Gavin with him, returning to kiss him again, tugging gently at his bottom lip with his teeth until his mouth slips open wider with a small gasp. Michael reaches up to tangle his hands in the other man's hair-

And Gavin jerks back from him so fast that he nearly falls off the couch, eyes wide. He curls up into himself, arms wrapped protectively around his head, and Michael's stomach drops. In an instant, the mood is shattered - in an instant, guilt's building heavily in his stomach. Ryan scrambles for the remote and switches the TV off; a heavy silence falls. All he can hear is Gavin breathing, faster and faster. Michael's too scared to touch him.

_Fuck, fuck - what did I do?_

"Gavin?" Ryan prompts, softly. He gets up and walks around the couch, but doesn't touch him. "Hey, hey, it's okay."

"I'm sorry," Michael adds. "I must've moved too fast."

Gavin doesn't look up for a long moment. His legs are drawn up, his face buried in his knees. Ryan and Michael glance at each other helplessly, unsure what to do. But then Gavin takes a deep breath and seems to gather himself. He's trembling, but he looks up and meets their gaze, his eyes red and haunted.

"Sorry," he chokes out.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Michael assures him immediately.  "You okay?" 

Gavin nods. He seems embarrassed and shaky and Michael's heart aches. He still has no fucking clue what went wrong, but the speed with which everything went to shit is just another reminder of how careful they have to be here. For a moment it had been far too easy to forget.

"Can I touch you?" Ryan asks.

"Maybe not right now," Gavin says, and Michael rises from the couch, passing him the blanket before sitting on the coffee table instead. Gavin pulls it around him protectively and uncurls a little, meeting their eyes sheepishly.

"Sorry," he says again, and Michael forces a smile.

"It's okay. No one's angry. What happened?"

"You touched my hair," Gavin whispers, and looks down. "Um. Clayton used to pull it a lot, I didn't... I didn't think it'd matter, but I just - panicked I guess. I know you wouldn't hurt me, Michael, it just - I thought about it, and it made me freak out for a second."

"Jesus," Michael breathes - a hot anger towards Clayton rises up again, and a frustration at himself for not being more careful - he feels terrible, even if objectively he knows there's no way he could've predicted it. "I'm sorry, Gav."

"Not your fault. It was nice, until then." Gavin looks away and Ryan crouches next to him.

"Hey," he says, softly. "It's not your fault, either. You know that, right?"

Gavin doesn't look at him. His eyes are welling with tears and Michael feels something tug deep in his chest.

"Gavin?" Ryan prompts, and Michael sees his jaw clench.

"I fucked it up." His voice is thick and choked. "It was going so well and I - I didn't want _this._ Sorry, Michael."

"It's fine-"

"No, it isn't. You feel bad now, don't you? You think you did something wrong but you didn't. It was me. It's so stupid - you were being gentle, I know you wouldn't hurt me. But I couldn't help it and I... I don't know how long I'm gonna be like this, and I just want it to end. I just want him _gone."_

There's a funny look on Ryan's face; a mix of anger and sadness that Michael can't quite pinpoint. But he sees the other man take a deep breath.

"Gavin," he says, firmly, "No one needs to feel bad. Not Michael and not you. This isn't the first time we've dealt with something like this. It won't be the last. We're not mad at you, we're not disappointed - how could we be?"

"Ryan's right," Michael adds, and forces himself to swallow the welling guilt. "Back when we first got together both of us were scared. Both of us made mistakes and both of us kept freaking out, not sure what the hell we were getting into."

"We both wanted to run away," Ryan adds. "But we didn't, and even when we had hiccups, even when both of us thought we were fucked up beyond repair and would never work - we stopped, and took our time, and got through it. There's no rush here. None of us have to be okay right away. It takes time to heal and this is still real fucking new."

Gavin nods. He looks away again, and Michael's hesitant to touch him - but Ryan gives him a small nod, and he offers Gavin a hand. Gavin reaches out and takes it, and for a moment they sit there, fingers tangled together, until he sees Gavin's chest slowly stop heaving and the other man looks up and meets his eyes. Michael holds his gaze and he sees the fear slip away as Gavin must realise he really isn't angry.

"Okay?" he asks softly, and Gavin nods.

Ryan reaches out and puts a hand on Michael's knee, squeezing gently. It's good that he's here; if he was alone with Gavin Michael doesn't know what he'd've said or done. He still feels a bit awkward, but Ryan had all the words he needed, and he can tell Gavin's calming a little already.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Ryan whispers, and Gavin nods. After a moment he leans forward and hugs Michael, who stiffens before hugging him back, relieved that Gavin’s not scared to touch him, but careful not to squeeze him too tightly. He can feel Gavin shaking, and presses a kiss to the other man’s temple, avoiding touching his hair. After a moment Ryan wraps his arms around them both.

“We gotcha,” he hears himself murmur, “It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine,” and isn’t sure who he’s reassuring - maybe all of them - but he feels Gavin’s arms tighten around his waist and knows that he at least believes them. It’s a start, and no one’s run away, and that means something. That matters.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**xxxii. the calm before the storm**

_"I love you," Michael says, and Ryan's standing at home in front of the mirror with his hands cupped full of blood where he cut himself on the glass he dropped by accident, he was shaking so badly, and-_

_"I love you," Michael says, and Ryan can't sleep, his stomach is churning and he feels cold all over, like his blood's turned to ice and is chugging sluggishly through his veins, the ticking of his bedside clock becoming torture with every beat-_  

_"I love you," Michael says, and Ryan fires his gun six times at a fleeing mark and misses every damn shot, stumbles to the side of the road trembling because for a moment, for a moment it's Wendy who he finds himself aiming at, her hair as red as blood, Wendy who knelt across the room from him, whose green eyes he was staring into the very moment she died-_  

_He knows Michael's hurt he didn't say it back. He knows it's stupid, hell, he knows he does love him. That's what's terrifying. He loves him, and it's the first and only person aside from Wendy, and last time nearly broke him, and he can't go through that again-_  

_He can't, but he doesn't want to lose Michael either, and even if he knows the other man understood his stammered explanation of why he'd freaked out, hell, even if that's one of the reasons he does love Michael so much - he knows when not to push -_  

_He just doesn't know how to do this._  

I love you. _The words bubble up in his throat. They're precious; he holds them for her. Until Michael said it, she was the last person to utter the words - and he still remembers the moment, whispered in his ear just after they woke up, on a morning they had no fucking idea would be their last. He said it back, then - but not later, not when it mattered, and even now the guilt of that makes the words lodge in his throat like stones-_  

"Come on! You're holding back."

Ryan circles around the boxing ring as Gavin steps after him, brows furrowed in concentration and sweat dripping down his face. He jabs at the pads Ryan's holding, his gloves making contact with each one with a rhythmic _thunk, thunk, thunk-_  

"That's right, like that! You're doing great. Harder!" 

Eyes narrowed, Gavin strikes the centre of the pad hard enough for Ryan's left arm to nearly waver. 

"Come on, you can do better than that! Faster, faster! Jab, jab, hook - yes! Like that!" 

One final blow, and Ryan lowers the pads with a smile. Gavin grins back. He's breathing heavily now, and as soon as he realises they're done he slumps, arms hanging limply by his sides. His face is flushed and although he looks tired, he's smiling widely. The exercise seems to have done him good. 

"Great work," Ryan says, and Gavin gives another of those shy, surprised smiles that at once endear Ryan and make him furious at everyone who ever helped make Gavin so uncertain of himself. He raises a hand. "High five?"

Gavin giggles, and awkwardly taps Ryan's hand with his boxing glove before using his teeth to tear open the velcro straps. They head over to the water tank by the side of the base's gym, Gavin taking off his gloves and laying them aside. He flexes his fingers, hands still wrapped. 

"Not too sore?" Ryan asks, and Gavin shakes his head. 

"No! It's good," he says. And then, as Ryan passes him a cup of water. "Thank you. I mean, for teaching me." 

Ryan nods. When Gavin told him he wanted to learn how to fight, he'd been hesitant. Not because it was a bad idea - hell, if anything Ryan was desperate for him to know how to protect himself, especially if he was gonna be joining the crew full-time - but because after Gavin's break down the other day he was terrified of accidentally doing something to scare him. Clayton's words still rang in his head. _I'll have won._  

It was stupid - he knew it wasn't something any of them could control, that it was enough to be aware and careful, that he and Michael had tripped each other up by accident a bunch of times when they first got together and they'd still held strong. But he couldn't help it. He just didn't want to hurt Gavin. 

But boxing - boxing was something they could start easily with, and he could help Gavin learn to throw a punch (and maybe a knife, later, if he could convince Michael), help him get stronger and build his form even if he was hesitant to properly spar with the other man. And it seemed to be going well; Gavin's eyes were sparkling and Ryan could tell he was happy to be taking things into his own hands for once, reclaiming control with every punch he threw, every push up and dodge and set with a skipping rope. Making himself stronger, strong enough that he could stop anyone who tried to lay a hand on him. 

"It'll hurt tomorrow," Ryan says, and Gavin grimaces and rubs his arms. 

"Probably," he admits. "That's more of a workout than I'm used to." 

"Keep at it. The beginning's the hardest part." He beckons Gavin over to the side of the room, where several couches pushed against the wall serve as both a viewing area and a spot for people to put their bags. As he sits down and Gavin plonks himself next to him, a flash of a memory hits him - sitting here watching Michael spar with Geoff, a long, long time ago before he really knew either of them. Being impressed by the other man, with how vicious and quick he was. Something wistful about the way his gaze lingered on Michael's hair, glinting red in the sun spilling from the grated skylight above, thinking how soft his curls looked.  

"Do you and Michael spar a lot?" Gavin asks, and Ryan nods. 

"Yeah, we do. We work out a lot separately as well, but it can be fun. We'll take it slow, though," he adds quickly, "I don't think you need to step in the ring with us just yet." 

Gavin lips twitch. 

"I think you'd knock me flat in two seconds," he says, and Ryan's pleased his voice is light and unconcerned. 

"I don't know, you're pretty fast," he points out. "That can be more of an advantage. Best way to get out of a fight unharmed is to avoid it entirely, after all." 

"True." Gavin hums, sipping his water absently before starting to undo his wraps. Ryan reaches out and takes his hand, doing it for him, and Gavin tilts his head with a sweet smile. "Where did you learn to fight so well? Did you box when you were younger?"

"I didn't, actually," Ryan replies, and bites his lip. His past before the crew, nearly before Wendy, is something so personal that only Michael really knows about it. But Gavin's different, he realises, and is surprised by how easy it is to speak. "Believe it or not, I wasn't remotely athletic in my youth. I was more interested in music and theatre at school than sports." 

Gavin gasps. 

"You were a _nerd_ , Ryan!" he exclaims, and Ryan laughs. 

"I object to that label! I'd prefer to be considered studious." 

"Hey, there's no shame in it. God knows I was hardly the most popular or sporty person at my school." 

"Popularity’s overrated, anyway," Ryan says, with a small smile. It fades a moment later as he continues, quietly, "I lived next door to a girl in my year at school. Wendy." 

He sees Gavin fall silent, and pauses, the other man's hand still clutched in his but his own task forgotten. He hasn't spoken about this in a long, long time. Hell, they're happier memories than most of his others, but it's still somehow painful, still makes something tighten in his chest as his mind falls back to hot summer days and the honeysuckle in his garden, the red-roofed house next door, how he'd sit on his front porch and watch the girl with frizzy crimson braids run out to get the mail at the same time every afternoon. When they started school they'd always walk home together - usually stopping at the corner shop first, both of them putting off going home as long as possible. 

Funny old days, so long ago now that it feels more like recalling a movie than a memory. 

"Is that how you knew each other?" Gavin whispers, and Ryan nods. 

"Yeah. We became friends pretty quickly, and we... we got close real fast. Neither of our families were very nice people," he adds, lips twisting. "I tried not to stay home too much, especially when my parents were there - and my dad was unemployed often enough that he was usually lurking around at home somewhere - and Wendy's step-brothers used to bully and pick on her relentlessly. We spent a lot of time running away from them, trying to lose them in our neighbourhood. If we weren't fast enough they'd beat us up." 

"Jesus," Gavin breathes, and Ryan shrugs with a bit of a laugh. 

"If anything, that pushed us into the life of crime, 'cause we ended up spending a lot of time hiding in the lots downtown where dealers hung out. God, we were just stupid kids who thought we were a lot more mature than we actually were, but somehow we befriended a bunch of them. They probably thought we were amusing. Taught us to throw a punch and before long we could fight back. We thought they were our friends - in hindsight they were just using us - but we used to help them out, now and then, for pocket money. Carry messages or packages for them. When we got older they gave us bigger and bigger jobs until we were pretty set in that side of the business. Later my uncle found out and employed us instead; by that point we'd gotten into enough scrapes we could handle ourselves." 

"You were just kids," Gavin breathes, and Ryan shrugs. 

"We were all just kids," he points out, flatly. "You, me, Michael. That's how we all ended up here. It wasn't about the power or the money or anything, not really. Maybe part of it is, now, but... I don't know. We're not good people, but we're better than some others." 

"You were good to me," Gavin says softly, and squeezes his hand. Ryan manages a smile. 

He’d thought he would get upset, bringing his past up again after so long. But perhaps the wound has healed more than he thought it had; there’s a heavy, faint sadness in his chest, but that’s not unusual for any time he thinks about Wendy. If anything, he feels oddly at peace - relieved that Gavin has another piece of the puzzle, now, that it came out like this - in this sunny room, holding Gavin’s hand, and not in a moment that’s cold or ugly or bitter or upset. 

“After she died,” he manages, “I threw myself into the worst jobs I could find. I just didn’t care any more. Honestly, part of me probably thought I wouldn’t make it out of most of them. I’d never thought of myself as a particularly dangerous man, not compared to most others out there. But apparently I was stronger than I thought. Somewhere along the way I guess I killed enough people to become pretty fucking good at it.”

“You work with the Fakes now,” Gavin points out. “You protected Michael and I, back when we were saving him from the Lost. We would have been dead if you haven’t taken them all out. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ryan smiles a little. That does settle something in him, and he turns back to what he was doing, unwinding the final part of the wraps from Gavin’s hands. The other man’s staring at him intently and when Ryan looks up and meets his eyes Gavin suddenly leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. Ryan lets out a startled laugh.

“What, not a proper one?” he teases, and Gavin smiles wider and puts one hand on his shoulder, pressing their lips together quickly. They’re sweaty from exercising but it means Gavin’s body is very warm where it presses against his, and Ryan can feel his heart pounding through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it feels easy and comfortable in a way that makes him know, more than anything, that he’s healing. He’s getting there. He’s _able_.

 

* * *

 

It's a miserably cold day and raining hard when they cross the city to meet with Burnie. There's a funny, strained silence the whole way there; the water thundering against the roof of the car makes it hard to speak, but not only that - the tension of waiting for the Harts to make a move is getting to everybody. 

Ryan's in the backseat with Gavin, Michael up front with Geoff. He can't stop looking worriedly across at the other man - his head's turned away, leaning against the window, but in his reflection in the dark glass Ryan can clearly see his wide eyes and furrowed brows. He's curled up with his body pulled tight and fists clenched, and Ryan knows that once again this isn't just a routine job for him. It's an escape plan, it's a hostage situation, it's going to be life-changing for him. Ryan can't even imagine what it must be like with the Harts still out there; even at the Fakes' base it would be difficult to feel safe. 

He reaches across the car and takes Gavin's hand, slowly uncurling his clenched fist and slotting their fingers together. Gavin glances over at him and gives a tiny smile; it's brief, but even once it fades he squeezes Ryan's hand and relaxes a little in his seat. Ryan sees Geoff eying them in the rear view mirror, but he doesn't say a word. 

They arrive at a tiny building on the far end of the CBD. This early in the morning there aren't many people around, but as soon as Ryan steps from the car he has to steady himself against the onslaught of freezing wind, struggling to zip up his coat.  

"Jesus fucking Christ," Michael hisses, arms wrapped around himself. "Can't even put up a fucking umbrella." 

"Perfect weather to sneak into the city in," Ryan notes grimly, putting an arm around Michael to steer him towards the door. Gavin scurries after them, Geoff holding a jacket over both their heads. 

It's a relief to get inside, to seal out the storm, but Ryan still feels nervous as they head into the lift and Geoff uses a key to unlock the button that will take them down into the basement. They've used this building for meetings before, but only the most important ones - when the Fakes are so badly in trouble that they need Burnie's help, or vice versa. It's one of the only places confidential enough that they can be certain they won't be tracked or ambushed. 

The elevators open into a dimly lit conference room. Two security guards look up when they enter, but step aside to let them get to the table. Burnie's sitting at one end of it, and rises when they approach, walking towards them. Beside him a man in a black hoodie sits hunched over the table. 

"Hey! Good to see you all again," Burnie says, but it's Gavin he's making a beeline for. He smiles warmly as he reaches the other man's side. "Nice to have you with us, Free. Settling in okay?" 

"Yes, thanks," Gavin says, looking a bit startled. Still, he smiles when Burnie squeezes his arm. 

"I hope this lot haven't scared you off already," Burnie says, glancing at the others. 

"Excuse you. We have been the perfect hosts," Geoff says, and Burnie laughs. 

"Give Gavin my phone number," he orders, and glances down at him again, grinning. "Some of their heists are pretty ridiculous. If they drive you up the wall and you need a more reasonable sounding job, my line's open." 

"Ridiculous sounds fun," Gavin says shyly, "But thank you." 

Burnie nods, and then snaps back to attention, ushering them to sit down. Ryan carefully positions Gavin between him and Michael. On the other end of the table, the hooded man looks up, and Ryan does a double take. 

"Blaine?" he exclaims. "Jesus, we haven't seen you in a while." 

"You look like shit, dude," Michael says flatly. 

Blaine smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. It's been months since Ryan saw him - he's one of Burnie's right hand men, though he works more behind the scenes than anything - and he looks fucking exhausted, unshaven with dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in weeks. 

"Blaine's been undercover in Gemini's territory for a while," Burnie explains. "He's been pretty damn busy the last few days trying to learn as much as he can about their plans." 

"What'd you find?" Geoff demands. "You said they had something, something big - a weapon? We've got a God damn tank, so unless it's something even more dangerous-" 

"A tank's only useful if you have a spot to use it in," Burnie points out. "We can't exactly drive it through the streets of the city." 

"Then we hole up near it. Let them come to us," Ryan points out. 

"We're not hiding like rats in a hole," Geoff begins, but Blaine lifts his head and they all fall silent. 

"The Harts have allied themselves with a group of mercenaries known as the Red Hand," he says, and they stiffen immediately. A chill runs down Ryan's spine. 

Back when he was trying to find out who the people that killed Wendy had been, the Red Hand were one of the names that came up. He'd ruled them out eventually, but he's never forgotten the stories he heard about them. They were a small group of killers for hire, but one of - if not the - most dangerous in the country. The only reason Geoff had never worried about them before was that they didn't work anywhere near Achievement City, and frequently went off the radar to take jobs in other countries. 

"Who are they?" Gavin whispers. 

"How do you not know the Red Hand?" Blaine demands incredulously - Gavin looks down, and Ryan reaches out to squeeze his arm. 

"He only came to America a year ago," he explains. "Gav, the Red Hand are a group of mercenaries and bounty hunters. Probably the best in America, if not some of the best in the world. They're horrendously expensive and they only pull a few jobs a year, but they have a powerful reputation."

"They're hard to get a hold of," Geoff says grimly. His smile's vanished and he looks worried. That alarms Ryan more than anything. "There are only five of them but they're some of the most efficient killers I've ever seen. They can break in anywhere, usually show up when you least expect them. And because they're not after territory, they're not part of any gangs, they have nothing to lose when they plan their jobs. None of their targets have ever gotten away." 

"Scarier than the Vagabond?" Gavin asks, looking rather alarmed. 

"Way scarier," Ryan admits. 

"They're a weapon in and of themselves," Michael says, darkly. "We need to double security on the tank and make sure the people we have guarding it are on the lookout. I wouldn't put it past the Harts to target that, first."

"Good thinking," Burnie says grimly. "In the meantime, we're going to need allies ourselves. Manpower is no good against these five - they're trained killers and their aim is efficiency. We have Ryan, and I can call in Meg, but most of us aren't assassins, not like these guys are." 

"Ryan?" Geoff prompts, turning to him. "Who in or near the city can we count on?" 

Ryan frowns. Despite joining the Fakes full time he's still kept an eye on the people who used to be his competition in the world of paid killers. 

"There's a gang on the other side of Gemini's territory who have just started getting into pulling heists. Before that they were a mercenary organisation," he says. "Run by an ex-Fed, actually. Arthur Fisher." 

"I know who you're talking about," Gavin pipes up, "Clayton used to keep tabs on them because they were so close by. They'll be a hard buy."

"They're not known for working for anyone but themselves," Geoff says. "And I doubt they'll want to be dragged into a feud as big as the Fakes vs Gemini. We'll need a lot of money to convince them." 

A glum silence falls. Despite himself, Ryan feels nervous. Aside from someone directly threatening Michael or his friends, it takes a lot to worry him - but their enemies are getting larger in number, and far more dangerous. Even with the tank in their hands, he feels unsettlingly out-skilled and out-matched. 

"Or me," Gavin says suddenly, and everyone turns to him in surprise. 

"What's that mean?" Michael asks, already frowning. 

"You might not need to offer them money," Gavin explains, slowly. "You said they were moving into pulling heists, Ryan, and I know from when Gemini was watching them that they've been struggling with something big. From memory I think they wanted to steal blueprints from some big tech office in the city? That'd be a challenge even for me. What if we don't offer them cash but the chance for me to come up with their plan?" 

There's a long silence. Ryan can see Burnie and Geoff looking at each other, weighing this up. His own stomach has a tight knot in it. 

"You shouldn't be the one to go in," Michael says, firmly, and Ryan nods immediately, glad he spoke up. 

"He's right," he says. "It's not on you to fix this-" 

"I thought we were all working together," Gavin cuts in, with surprising determination, before Geoff or Burnie can even contribute. "If I can help out, then I want to. I'm not gonna just sit on my arse back at the base while the Harts get closer every second. Besides, it shouldn't be dangerous. These people are potential allies. Have they ever caused you trouble before?" 

He directs the question to Geoff, who shakes his head. 

"No," he says quietly, "They haven't. If anything, they'll want us in charge around here rather than Gemini." 

"Then there shouldn't be anything to worry about," Gavin points out. 

Burnie's already nodding. 

"You shouldn't go alone," he begins, and Ryan's already leaning forward. 

"Michael and I will go," he says firmly. Geoff shakes his head and Ryan turns to him with a scowl. "He's not heading in on his own, Geoff-" 

"Cool it, Ryan. No one said he would be. This has to look like an offer, not a threat," Geoff says. "You'll stay close by, but only Michael will go in with him. The Vagabond has too much of a presence to be part of a deal like this." 

"But-" 

"You'll be putting them in more danger than if they went in without you," Geoff says sternly. 

A hot anger rises in Ryan's chest. But then a hand touches his leg under the table, squeezing his knee gently. He assumes it's Michael, but then turns and remembers it's Gavin next to him, the other man staring up at him, eyes wide. His fury fizzles away in an instant, and he slumps back in his seat. He can see them all watching him carefully.

"If it goes south, we need people nearby," he says firmly. 

"Of course," Geoff assures him. "Michael? Gav? You okay with this?" 

"It seems like our best shot," Michael replies, quietly. "Do we know where the Harts are now?" 

Blaine shakes his head. 

"That's what I've spent the last day trying to find out. Since they went dark I haven't been able to find them. One thing's for sure, they're on their way, but we have no idea what direction they're approaching from, if the Hand are with them..." 

He trails off helplessly, and another cold hand grips Ryan's stomach. 

"We've increased surveillance all over the city, and Gavin told us which spots Gemini usually uses to get in here," Geoff says. "Wherever they do come from, we'll be ready." 

He sounds very sure, but words are just words, and there's no way to tell. But there's nothing they can do about it, and Ryan has to force himself just to trust that they'll deal with it, and focus on his own task. 

"When should we meet them?" he asks. 

"Tonight," Burnie says, "I'll send them a message to arrange the meeting. Gavin, you get started on a plan to offer them." 

Gavin nods. Ryan looks at him carefully - his face is pale, but set and resolute, and he can't help but be proud of the other man's bravery. Michael catches his eyes from just behind him, and in the look that passes between him Ryan can tell he's just as determined to make sure this all goes smoothly. 

"Okay then," Geoff says, and they all rise, heading for the elevator. Michael takes Gavin's arm, leaning in to whisper something to him that Ryan can't quite catch. Before he can follow, Burnie reaches out and taps his arm. He hangs back as the other man comes up by his side. 

"You and Free..." 

"What about it?" Ryan snaps, a bit too quickly. 

Burnie's eyebrows rise, and his gaze flicks from Ryan to where Michael's herding Gavin into the elevator.

"I'm not an idiot, Ryan. I can see what's going on here. Be careful," he says. "Geoff told me where he's coming from." 

An odd defensiveness rises up. He knows it shouldn't, that Burnie's just looking out for Gavin here, but he resents the lecture when they're trying their hardest. 

"We are," he manages, through gritted teeth. 

"Hey, sorry. Didn't mean it like that." Burnie squeezes his arm. "I wanted to say as well - don't worry. I know you just want to protect them both, but you're not alone. You've got good people on your side here. We're all making it through this." 

Ryan relaxes a little, managing a smile. Burnie claps him on the shoulder a few times. 

"Come on then. Let's sort out this deal and give the Harts the surprise of their fucking lives."

  

* * *

 

**xxxiii. red skies**  

_"Another offer?" Dan asks, as Gavin slams his laptop shut and comes to throw himself down on the couch next to him._  

_"Yeah," Gavin groans, reaching up to rub at his temples. "The last crew I worked for."_  

_"You could accept one, you know. It might be nice to have regular work - and allies you can trust."_  

_Dan says it carefully, and Gavin can tell he's bracing himself to get snapped at. It's been a point of contention between them for a while now. Since they both got into this business, Dan's made himself a regular employee of various crews, and is trying to join one full time. Gavin, on the other hand, resolutely refuses to do anything other than remain a solo freelancer. It's bitten him in the arse a few times when he's had angry gang members come after him and has had to turn to Dan to get them off his back._  

_He hesitates now, chewing his lip agitatedly._  

_"I just haven't had good experiences with them," he says quietly._  

_"You never know-"_  

_"Even when they ask me along," Gavin blurts out, "They don't trust me, not really. They keep information from me and then I never know where I stand with them. I hate that. I don't just want to be useful to a crew, B, I'd want to actually be a part of it. Loyal to them, and know they were loyal to me, too. People I can trust to have my back. People who actually like me. Like what we got," he adds, punching Dan's arm lightly. The other man smiles._

_"_ _I know, but trust takes time to build. If you refuse to work with anyone then you'll never even have the chance to meet a crew you fit in with."_

  _Gavin shrugs a little. His stomach is tight and he doesn't know how to tell Dan that he's pretty sure he's just never gonna fit in anywhere, that no one's ever gonna want him. Not like he's exactly ever been popular before. Even if people like him at the start, eventually they always get annoyed, or he fucks something up and ruins everything._  

_"I'll think about it," he whispers, but from the way Dan's face twists he knows the other man can see right through the lie._

_"One day, B," he says, "Just like you and I found each other, yeah? Someone there's no secrets with, someone you can totally trust."_  

_"Pretty bloody romantic."_  

_"Loyalty means a lot in our business, and it's worth a hell of a lot more than anything you can buy or steal."_  

_Gavin nods. He curls up on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest, and tries to force away the sudden aching emptiness in his chest; Dan's right, but it feels like something that happens to other people, a locked window he can see through but no matter how hard he tries has no way to break into-_  

"Jesus, this fucking rain just won't quit." 

Michael peers out from under the shelter of the car park across the road from their meeting place. The rain's still coming down torrentially, so loud that it's hard to hear. Gavin bites his lip and clutches the straps of his backpack as he looks out at it. It's cold and windy and overall horrible weather. He misses the secluded warmth of the underground base. He can't stop thinking of all the times he had to ride his bike for miles out in this sort of weather, of the times he returned to the base - or the safe house - dripping wet and couldn't stop shivering for hours. 

But things are different now, he reminds himself, and when Michael turns back to him and smiles he feels his spirits lift instantly. 

"You ready?" he asks, stepping towards Gavin and reaching out to adjust the scarf wrapped around his neck. Gavin nods, pleased when Michael's warm hand brushes across his cheek before he reaches down and checks Gavin's body armour. 

"I know what I'm doing," Gavin says - then hesitates, and pulls Jeremy's sunglasses from his pocket. 

It's not like it's the first time he's negotiated with another gang. But every other time it's been as the Shadow, and that's what he's comfortable with, that's what he's confident works. When he slips them on he sees Michael's frown, and knows what he's thinking. 

"They can't know I'm nervous," he blurts out, and Michael's face softens. 

"Hey - whatever works for you,"  he says, gently. "These are still early days. God knows that when I first joined the crew it was a while before I figured out exactly who I was - what sort of... image, I suppose, I wanted to put on. Even Ryan's Vagabond is different now to what it used to be." He gestures at his face. "He kept the name, but he changed the paint." 

Gavin manages a smile, and Michael takes his hands and squeezes. 

"It's normal to be scared," he whispers. "But remember, Ryan and I have your back. We're not gonna let anything happen to you." 

Gavin manages a nod, and Michael tugs him closer. 

"Ryan and I have a tradition," he says, slowly - and he's the one who looks nervous now, unable to hold Gavin's gaze. "Before any big job we... God, it sounds fucking morbid - we make sure the other person knows how we feel, just in case things go south."

"Christ, that's grim." 

Michael laughs, a bit hysterically.

"I know, I know. But with Wendy..." he trails off, and Gavin swallows, a sudden lump in his throat. "He never got a chance to tell her, right before she was killed. So he needs to do it with me, just in case. The regret eats him up." 

"That's understandable," Gavin whispers. "So before he left to get set up, he...?" 

"He had a moment with me, yeah," Michael says. "We didn't want to overwhelm you yet, but... I don't know. I thought it might be nice." 

Gavin bites his lip. He's got that funny longing feeling in his chest again. It's silly, he knows, because Michael and Ryan have been together years now, and it's so nice of them to be trying to take things slowly. He knows it would be a bad idea to rush things. He just wants this, wants it as soon as possible, doesn't want it to fade away or fizzle out or for another bad thing to come along and interrupt them. 

"It _would_ be nice," he says firmly, and steps closer to Michael until their chests are nearly pressed together. Michael's eyes widen at his boldness - then with a sudden fierceness, he takes Gavin by the shoulders and pulls him into a long, slow kiss. There's something more heated about it than with their others; maybe it's the constant drumming of the rain above them that seems to make his every other sense heightened, maybe it's the heat of Michael's body against the cold air of the car park, maybe it's because his stomach was already squirming with nerves. But Gavin feels like a live-wire, and he wraps his arms around Michael's waist and pulls him closer. They kiss until they're breathless, and even when Michael's teeth catch at his bottom lip, the slight scrape, the roughness, is almost nice. He doesn't feel breakable or damaged, he just feels _wanted_ , and that's something he's been looking for even before Gemini took him. 

Michael swallows hard when they pull apart. He cradles Gavin close, foreheads pressed together, something intimate about how he can feel Michael's breath against his lips. 

"I love you," the other man murmurs, so softly that Gavin nearly doesn't catch it. The words take a second to register, and when they do, he stiffens in surprise. Michael looks alarmed, but Gavin quickly reaches up and cups his cheek. 

"Sorry," Michael stammers, "I know it's sudden, I just-" 

"It's fine," Gavin whispers. "It really is, Michael." He can't help the smile that breaks across his face. "You know, no one's really said that to me before. Not like that." 

"Well, I mean it," Michael says fiercely, eyes blazing. "I know it hasn't been long, but... I can tell what I feel. And I didn't want us to go in there without you knowing it."

"Thank you," Gavin says, and bites his lip. "I... I love you too." 

It comes out stuttered, unfamiliar, but as soon as he says it something surges through his chest, and he knows that he means the words, as new as they are. He knows this is what he's been waiting for. 

Michael beams. He pulls Gavin closer again, gives him another gentle peck on the lips. Gavin feels steadier, safer, as they break apart, and Michael reaches up and switches on his earpiece. 

"Ryan, Burnie? We're in position." 

Gavin hurriedly turns his own on. He hears Ryan shifting to get comfortable, and the patter of the rain around him. He's  up on the roof of the car park above them, looking over the lot opposite where they're going to arrange the deal, keeping a sharp eye on things through the scope of his rifle. 

"I'm ready," he says. "It's raining like a bitch, but I can still see okay. Stay towards the East side if you can." 

"Got it," Michael says. "Burnie?" 

"Just got word from them." The worried note in Burnie's note instantly makes Gavin stiffen. "We have a... minor problem." 

"Oh fuck," Michael replies, glancing at Gavin and grimacing, "What is it now?" 

"Nothing major," Burnie adds quickly, "They just said they'll be there in five minutes, but they don't trust us. They've got it in their heads that this might be a setup to root them out, so they've changed the location last minute and they want to take the two of you there alone." 

"No fucking way," Ryan's already beginning. 

"No trackers, mics or anything else," Burnie adds grimly. "Location won't be more than a block away but it's to prevent an ambush." 

"Fuck," Michael hisses. "Sounds like a trap."

"It's still our only chance," Gavin cuts in quietly. "Look, they're a jumpy bunch, I know that much. I know this part of the city really well. If things go south I can get us out." 

"You're not going in alone somewhere I can't see you," Ryan snaps. 

"Then follow us on foot," Gavin says, and tugs at Michael's sleeve. "Michael, we have no time." 

Michael swallows. Ryan's breathing heavily into the earpiece, and he looks torn.  

"Burnie?" he asks finally. "What do you think?" 

"I think this is our current best chance," Burnie replies after a pause, "And we can't lose it." 

"Burns," Ryan snaps, but Michael shushes him. 

"Ryan - Ryan, it's fine. Plans change. Do you trust us?" he asks, and Ryan draws a shaky breath. 

"Of course," he manages. "But-" 

"Then trust we can do this. I know you'll have our back. Follow at a distance. The deal should go smoothly. We need their help, Ryan. Just like we needed Gemini's help to take out the Lost. It'll be fine." 

Ryan doesn't answer, but Gavin can just picture him - alone up on that dark roof, soaked to the bone, pale and trembling. Fear and danger warring in the back of his head. Gavin wants to go to him, touch him, comfort him. The distance between them seems immeasurable at that moment.

"Okay," he whispers finally, but Gavin sees the pain in Michael's face and knows he wishes the three of them were together just as much.

"Meet them in the lot," Burnie says sharply. "Michael, I'll call Geoff to disable your tracker. Call us as soon as the deal's over. Make it clean, no longer than fifteen minutes." 

"Think you can handle that, Gav?" Michael asks, and he swallows, and nods. The pressure's immense, but it's not like it was with Clayton. Back then he was scared of punishment if he failed; this time, he's motivated to protect these people - the men he loves. It feels different - better. 

"We got this," he says fiercely, and Michael's proud grin is worth it.  

"Okay. See you all in twenty minutes, then," Michael says and takes out his earpiece. Gavin does too, and Michael rubs at his jaw. 

"Just glad I don't have to pull my fucking tooth out," he says, and Gavin laughs, even if the thunder and the wind carry it away. 

 

* * *

 

Gavin struggles to keep his cool as the white van pulls into the lot. Knowing Ryan is watching them helps, but in a few moments they're gonna have to get in that thing and get taken God knows where.

But Michael's with him, by his side, standing a little closer than is normal. It's reassuring, even if the rain cascades over them and the strong winds catch at his ears and nose and all the gaps in his clothes. 

A man steps out who he recognises as the leader of the crew, the ex-Fed - a hard-eyed, lean fellow with ratty looking facial hair. He's got a wiry, coiled sense of danger to him that reminds Gavin of a feral dog, and is flanked by a big man and a cold-eyed woman with three different guns at her belt. 

"Fisher," Michael greets, stepping forward only to stop when the man raises a hand. His gaze flicks between them. 

"Jones. Free. Last I heard you were working with Gemini," he spits, clearly suspicious. Gavin can't exactly blame him.  "What's the deal with switching sides?"

"I worked with Gemini out of necessity," Gavin replies. His voice is already falling back into the Shadow's quiet flatness. "They weren't good people. The Fakes' vision for the city aligns more with mine - but Gemini are on their way here now to try and reclaim their territory. They won't take kindly to your heists, not unless you ally yourselves with them and give them a cut." 

"So you need our help. What's in it for us? Burnie said you had plans?" 

"I heard you wanted to break into the Corpirate's tech office. Get his latest blueprints, sell them to the highest bidder. His security's some of the best in the world - but I know how you can get past it. Won't even ask for a cut. Just your help taking out the Hart twins." 

Fisher glances at his two people. Gavin can see he's wavering. Finally, he gives a jerking nod. 

"Alright, Free, you've piqued my interest. I've heard about the jobs you pull. If you're legit then we're in. But we want to talk about this somewhere private first, hash out the details. You follow our instructions?" 

"We're both clean," Michael says. "But we aren't handing over our weapons." 

"Don't care about your weapons. Just no trackers or mics. This stays between the five of us - for safety." 

They step forward and Michael stiffens - but it seems the others just want to pat them down. Gavin stands and waits patiently as the woman runs her hands over him, checking for any hidden wires. She's rough, but he's used enough to being manhandled that he barely reacts to the treatment, even if he can see Michael casting him concerned little glances. 

"Just gotta scan you for bugs," Fisher says then, holding up a small electronic device. He scans Michael first - nothing, as expected - then turns to Gavin. He waits patiently, more focused on thinking about where in the city they might be about to go - when suddenly the device rings out with a shrill alarm, making them all jump. 

"The fuck?" Fisher begins - his face clouds over immediately and Gavin stares in shock. 

"Wh-what?" he stammers. "That wasn’t-" 

"The hell you got on you, Free?" Fisher demands - the woman's already striding forward and grabbing his arm roughly, and this time Gavin flinches as she drags him towards her. Michael starts forward angrily. 

"Get your fucking hands off him," he snarls, going for his gun - but that just makes the other man pull his weapon. 

The woman wrestles Gavin's backpack off his shoulders, ignoring his yelp of protest, and flings it to the ground. Fisher moves forward and runs his device over it. Again it flashes and beeps, and he looks up with dark, furious eyes. 

"You sure you can trust this bitch, Jones?" he snarls. "'cause it seems a hell of a lot like he's got a bug in his bag! Sure the Harts aren't listening in right now?" 

Gavin looks over at Michael frantically. It's hard to breathe; panic has descended over him like a sudden storm cloud. Of every way he'd imagined this deal could go wrong, this was not one of them. And still, despite everything, the worming doubt that the others might think he still works for Gemini is in the back of his head- 

But Michael's face is pale and drawn, and he's shaking his head frantically. 

"He's not," he snaps, "Fuck, fuck, he's not - we were bringing some tech back for Ramsey and totally fucking forgot about it-" 

"Yeah, likely fucking story," Fisher snarls, and shoves Michael backwards. He stumbles, nearly slipping on the wet ground of the lot. "Either you're trying to play me or Gemini's playing you - either way I want no fucking part of it." 

"Fisher-" 

"That's final. Come on," he snaps at his men, "We're leaving."

Gavin's heart is racing. This is falling apart before their eyes and as scared as he is, he can't stop thinking about what Burnie said. _This is our best chance. We can't lose it._  

"This is no trick or trap," he calls out, surprised by the confidence in his own voice. "I hate the Harts and we need to bring them down. Right now they've got the bloody Red Hand on their side." 

The three had turned back to their van, but at the sound of that they all freeze, spines stiffening. 

"You don't know what you're playing around with," Fisher says, coldly, "And if that's who we're up against, I sure as hell don't want my people mixed up in it." 

"If the Harts take over this city - and they might, if we can't get more people on our side - do you think they'll let you continue to live and work right under their noses? I've seen the way they claim territory. If you're not with them, they'll consider you against them, and the shit they've done to their enemies... I'm sure you've heard the stories." He steps forward, one hand outstretched. "Please - help us, for all our sakes. And in return I'll help you pull off a heist that'll make you all famous in this city." 

They haven't walked away yet, which is... one good sign, at least. But with Fisher's back turned he can't tell what the other man is thinking - and a moment later the sound of slow, bitter laughter rises above the rain, and Gavin's heart sinks again. 

"I'm not stupid, Free," Fisher snaps, whirling around. His face is thunderous. "Don't think you can sweet-talk me into joining you when we'd be idiots to even come near the Fakes after this. I know when Ramsey's genuine about a deal he follows the rules, and he sure as hell doesn't make stupid mistakes like leaving a fucking bug in a bag. Not to mention if you bailed on Gemini you're just as likely to bail on us, so go fuck yourself and don't come near us again." 

He’s getting up in Gavin’s space and while usually on deals for Clayton he just takes it, something about this makes him stumble backwards, heart pounding. Michael moves forward but the woman, clearly jumpy, pulls one of her guns.  

Suddenly things are looking real fucking grim - but then Gavin sees all of the other gang look up, at something past his shoulder, and stiffen. He turns and his eyes widen.

Ryan’s striding into the lot, his rifle raised. In the lashing wind and rain the sight of his dark skull mask coming silently towards them makes him look like some wicked spirit materialising from the fog. He can only imagine the others’ fear; it’s strange, now, how for him the sight of the Vagabond is a _relief_.  

“Leave!” Ryan roars. It must be the mask and the storm distorting his voice; he barely sounds human. “While you have the chance!” 

Fisher backs off, beckoning his people with him. With a last hateful glance in their direction, they fling themselves back into their van and speed off. As soon as they’re gone Gavin feels it all crash onto him; he crumples to his knees, uncaring of how his jeans are immediately soaked through. The lot’s covered in two inches of water by now. 

_Failure. Failure. Failure_. It’s a routine he’s used to on Clayton’s jobs; if he fucks up, doesn’t get the deal, then he’s not in for a pretty time when he gets back to base. The dread’s ingrained by now; he’s shaking and it’s not from the cold.  

“I’m sorry, Michael,” he hears himself babbling, “I tried, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was in there. Clayton must’ve had it planted - Jesus, I’m so stupid, I should’ve checked, I should’ve guessed-“ 

“Gavin, calm down.” It’s Ryan who comes to his side, a warm hand descending on his shoulder and trying to pull him up. Gavin twists away; he won’t want to touch him when he hears what happened. “How’d it go wrong?” 

“Not your fault, Gav,” Michael chokes out, and his voice is so strained that when Gavin looks up his own fear melts away into concern.  Michael’s face is pale and pinched, like he’s seen a ghost. “It wasn’t your fault. It was ours.”  

“I don’t understand,” Gavin says, but Michael steps forward and looks up at Ryan. 

“They scanned us for bugs,” he says, and points at Gavin’s bag. Ryan turns towards it and stiffens. His hand slips from Gavin’s shoulder and his shoulders slump. 

It’s confusion, more than anything, that’s getting to him. He stumbles to his feet and looks between them. Not knowing what’s going on - and there clearly is something, here, some way in which he’s been left out of the loop - strikes suddenly at all his worst fears. _They don’t trust you. They don’t actually trust you-_  

_Secrets-_  

_Lies-_  

_They said you were a part of this but you’re not, not really-_  

“What’s going on?” he cries. His voice is shrill and nearly hysterical and _don’t annoy them,_ he thinks, _don’t piss them off_ , but he can’t _help_ it-  

“This isn’t your fault, Gavin, I promise,” Michael says, and looks at him guiltily. “Let’s get in out of the rain, we’ll come up with another plan, we’ll call Burnie-” 

“Tell me what’s fucking going on, Michael.”

The sheer anger in his own voice surprises him, because he hadn’t thought he was. _Angry,_ that is; confused and scared and worried but-  

_Anger_. It’s an emotion he’s tamped down for a long time. He was angry at Clayton, of course, but he couldn’t _do_ anything about it, and any time he spoke back or gave him a dirty look or gave any hint that he was pissed off, Clayton would beat the defiance out of him. It was easier to be sad and scared. Those were _safe_ \- for Clayton, and hence for him.  

And how could he be angry at Michael and Ryan, after all they’d done for him? But he was, he realised now - he _was_ , because clearly they’d _done_ something here, something they weren’t telling him about, something that’d ruined this deal and made him think it was his fault and- 

_It’s not your fault._  

_It’s theirs, it’s theirs, what have they done?_  

They seem just as stunned as he is. But when no one yells back at him, no threatening hand is raised, something emboldened and blazing and _hot_ rises up in his chest, something that’s been kept pressed down for so long that now it surges through his veins without control, all the pent up fury and resentment that he kept swallowing, swallowing, _swallowing_ every time he had to look at Clayton’s fucking face, every time he was forced to apologise for something he didn’t do - like opening Pandora’s box, it spills out, ugly harsh words, things that could destroy, and he doesn’t - even - care.  

“Take that bloody mask off, Ryan, and tell me the truth!”  

He sounds hysterical and his voice is cracking but he’s _speaking_ , for once he’s speaking his damn mind instead of treading lightly, second guessing every word. It’s like a drug. “Michael? Was it you? Did you put that in there?” 

“Yes,” Michael says quietly, and the word is like a blow, and he feels his eyes widen in anger. “Yes, we did, but-” 

“But _what_?” And his fists are clenched now, shaking - _they said they trusted me, they did, they did, they_ know _what Clayton did to me - was it all a lie? Did they think I might still be working for the Harts, working for Gemini?_  

And then, worse- 

_He kissed me. He said he loved me._  

It’d felt so real. He’d _believed_ it, and he feels stupid, now, stupid for ever thinking that someone would actually care about him, let alone Michael and Ryan who already had each other, whose relationship was perfect - why drag him into things and ruin them? 

“Gavin, just calm down,” Michael’s saying - approaching him hand outstretched, like he’s some sort of wild animal - “I promise, this wasn’t some trick or trap-” 

“Don’t come near me,” he spits, and Michael freezes, looking stricken. “I _trusted_ you, Michael - I thought you trusted me too-” 

“We do!” Ryan cuts in. He’s pulled his mask off now but the rain’s ruined his paint. Somehow he looks even more like a ghost, his face melting ghoulishly away. A horrible memory strikes Gavin, another of the Harts’ executions - what acid does to human flesh. It makes his heart pound faster, and he wraps his arms around himself like it’s all that’s holding him together. “Just listen for a second, Gav. It’s not what you think.” 

“Then what _is it_?”   

To his horror, he sounds close to tears. He wants to be angry and strong, for his fury to burn anything weak away. But it just _hurts_ , it hurts because he wanted this so badly. He wants to spit in their faces for ruining things, but he also wants to _fix_ this, and find a way to get it all back. 

“Yes, we put that bug in your bag,” Michael says. He looks scared, Gavin notes vaguely - of him? “But it wasn’t to sabotage this job, it wasn’t because we thought you still worked for the Harts. It was before we knew what was happening with you, way back at the house. We weren’t sure if we could trust you. We figured Gemini would sell us out for the tank. So we bugged your bag hoping Clayton would reveal his plans to you and we could listen in. But instead we heard…” 

He trails off, and Gavin feels sick suddenly. He remembers that awful night - stormy just like this one - and the sinking of the truck, and how they’d tried to stop him going to Clayton. How when he got home they’d been so soft and nice and he’d figured they’d just been perceptive enough to work out what happened. 

But no. _They heard it. They heard everything_ , and a blazing humiliation spreads through his whole body until he can barely feel how cold and wet he is anymore. 

Objectively, he’s perfectly aware that none of this is his fault. That he has nothing to be ashamed of. But one of the saving graces in all this had been that Michael and Ryan _hadn’t_ ever actually witnessed what he and Clayton were like alone. That they hadn’t seen him so pathetic, _reduced_ , all his dignity crushed under the other man’s filthy heel. At least he’d had some pride left - or he’d thought he did. 

To find out they’d witnessed it all along, and hadn’t _told him_ \- he felt lied to, fooled, _embarrassed_ , like all the weaknesses Clayton had dragged out of him had been put on display for them to see. His head drops down, staring at the ground, and his fists clench until his nails nearly make his palms bleed. He’s shaking hard, now, and he’s still angry but it feels like it’s all condensed into a tight ball in the pit of his stomach. It hurts to swallow. 

In his peripheral he sees the other two move, shifting closer, glancing at each other. Figuring out what to do, he thinks bitterly, with this new problem that they’ve created. That’s what he always is - a problem, some puzzle for them to figure out. Well, they’ve seen it all, apparently. 

“Gavin,” Michael says quietly. He’s nearly reached his side by now. “I’m sorry.” 

“It makes sense,” he chokes out, “You didn’t trust me.” 

“Maybe, but we should have told you. We just… weren’t sure how. And now this failure is on us. Not just the job, but… we’ve upset you, we keep fucking things up and I can’t say sorry enough. The last thing we want is to hurt you.” 

He wants to crumple to the ground again, to curl up and hide his head and hope this somehow passes, like the sun will come out and they can forget everything. But that would look _pathetic, weak_ , and it’s sheer spite and force of will that keeps him standing, even if he can’t look up. He sees Michael reach to touch him, then think better of it. 

“Talk to us,” Ryan urges. 

Gavin swallows. He doesn’t want to say anything; he feels like he’ll cry if he does, and that would be even more humiliating. But they wait, patiently, despite the urgency of the job, despite the pouring rain, despite Burnie waiting frantically for their call. Like this is more important, apparently. 

Finally he speaks. His voice is shaking terribly but he gets the words out. 

“I wish you’d told me,” he says. “I would’ve liked to know that you’d actually heard what - what Clayton was doing to me. I was operating under the assumption that at least that embarrassment was something I could keep to myself.” 

“It’s not something you should be embarrassed about,” Michael begins, but another hot stab of anger flares through Gavin’s chest. 

“Except it _is_ , Michael. He very _specifically_ designed it that way!” He spits every syllable, hating how mocking his own voice sounds. “He broke me down, humiliated me at every turn - he _wanted_ me to be embarrassed, and I _was_ , so don’t fucking tell me what I should and shouldn’t feel-” 

He breaks off, a sob choking up in his throat, and turns away from them. The worst part is, he doesn’t want to hurt Michael, either, but he knows he has; the other man turns to Ryan, stunned and unsure of himself. 

“We’re sorry,” Ryan murmurs finally. “You’re right. We can’t undo it, but I apologise.” 

“Me too,” Michael murmurs. 

He wants to hold onto his anger. He can’t, not really, not when so few people have ever acknowledged that what they did was wrong to him, that he has a right to be upset - it’s shocking enough that despite himself it makes some of the fury fade away.

“And I’m mad because I was scared just then,” he manages, “Because you didn’t tell me or at least take the bloody bug out, this failed, and I was _terrified_. You couldn’t have known this would happen, but it _did_ , and I thought you’d be angry that I’d fucked up the job. I thought you’d think I was working for the Harts. Just now I was so fucking scared in a way I never wanted to be again.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael repeats, and he does sound like he _means_ it. He sounds pretty fucking shattered, and Gavin clenches his eyes shut. The last of it’s still rattling around inside him. It squeezes out with the breath of his next words. 

“I want to trust you two. I want to trust the Fakes. And everything you’ve done is everything I ever wanted, but I… I can’t do this if there’s gonna be lies and secrets, if I don’t feel like I’m actually a part of it. And I hate that right now I still feel like I should be apologising and begging you not to be mad just because I spoke my mind about being pissed off about this.” 

“No, Gavin - Jesus, we’d never be mad about that,” Ryan says, and Gavin throws his hands up.

“I know,” he cries, “But I can’t just turn it off, Ryan. It doesn’t work like that.” 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Ryan says, but when he steps forward Gavin does manage to look up at him. Under the mess of paint he can see the upset in Ryan’s blue eyes. “It’s not at all the same, but I… I know what it’s like to be scared, and not be able to stop, no matter how much you want to. No matter how good things seem right now. It corrupts everything, it makes you always doubt. No one deserves that, least of all you. And I hate that we fucked up so badly, that we contributed to it in any way. I’m sorry, Gavin. I understand if you don’t want to forgive us right now.” 

Michael nods, hanging his head. The two of them, standing there soaked in the rain, shoulders slumped, look _small_ in a way they never have before. It’s drained out of him now, left him exhausted and shaky- 

But _clean_ in a way he hasn’t felt in over a year. The anger he’d bottled up had become bitter and black, corroding his insides, fighting to get out. Now that it’s gone it feels like everything’s been said, like they _understand_ , now, like the air’s been cleared. He takes a deep breath and swipes at his face, wiping away the tears and dirty rainwater. 

“Of course I forgive you,” he whispers, and sees them stiffen in surprise and glance at each other. “It wasn’t deliberate. And you apologised. That’s enough.” 

Michael’s face crumples a little, and Gavin knows what he’s thinking - that it’s pathetic that such a simple gesture is _enough_ for him, poor damaged little Gavin who’ll take any scrap he can get - but then Michael nods, and steps forward, and when he reaches for his hands Gavin doesn’t resist as he’s pulled into a hug. Just leans against him and closes his eyes and for a moment lets himself feel steady, like the world isn’t hurtling too fast around him and time is constantly running out.  

“Sorry,” Michael whispers again, close to his ear. 

“It’s okay,” Gavin murmurs back, and he does mean it, and it’s nice to feel like he’s in control for once- like he has the power here, to accept it or not, to forgive or not. 

This is what he wanted, what he’s wanted for a long time but never believed he could have. He couldn’t forgive himself if he let his own fear push it away. 

Ryan comes up too, then, and wraps his arms around both of them. And it’s an effort to trust, especially after what just happened - but Gavin _does_ , lets himself believe this, believe them. And when he closes his eyes and feels both their strong arms around him, the warmth of their bodies, he’s glad for it. 

“No more secrets,” he says. 

“None. I promise,” Ryan urges. And they’re words Gavin can believe, especially as he twists to look up at the other man and thinks of how he opened up about his past the other day in that sunny room after teaching Gavin to take care of himself - and smiles a little. Ryan may not have said _I love you_ yet, but that sharing means just as much. If he wasn’t serious about that, he wouldn’t have trusted Gavin with Wendy. 

They pull apart and Michael sighs. 

“Better call Burnie and sort out this shit storm,” he says. He moves to grab his phone when a distant commotion makes them all freeze. 

The screen of tires. The unmistakeable _crash_ of a car colliding with something else. And then an explosion that rocks the entire block, makes the ground thrum under their feet and a distant portion of the storm-ridden sky flash like lightning. They glance at each other, on high alert in an instant.

There’s a silent moment in which they all register this sudden shift. Then Ryan pulls his mask back on, and Michael grabs his gun. Gavin shoulders his bag again and glances at each of the others. 

Something’s happening. It’s starting, whatever war the Harts have brought to their city. It would be easy to be scared - but he’s tasted _anger_ now, and he lets himself have it again, uses it to fuel him as the others turn and stride away and he falls into step with them. Not child soldiers now, or vagabonds, but Ramsey’s men - and Gavin feels like a part of it too, as they break into a jog and run through the rain towards the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> [Another awesome fanmix by spnseraphina](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/165149891939/neverland-a-playlist-by-seraphina-thiare-on)! thank you so much, I love it <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings at the start of chapter one.

**xxxiv. crawling in the dark**

_Michael stares into the blazing, crackling shell of the car. The light's nearly bright enough to blind, and the thick, smoggy air stinks like petrol and burnt rubber. It stings his eyes and throat, but he stands rooted to the ground, chest heaving painful ins, outs._

_There's a new gang in town._

_They call themselves Gemini, and they've ousted another group - violently, mercilessly, carved out a slot of territory for themselves down near the docks. Geoff's looked into them, to see what they're up against, and it's bad. This is going to be_ bad _, and just the sight of the mangled remains of the other crew have already made Michael feel like a darkness is spilling forward from the back of his mind, an oncoming storm that fills him with dread. Ghost children he hasn't thought about in years rising up again, horrors he thought he'd left behind._

_"Michael," a quiet voice says behind him._

_Michael stiffens and whirls around. Ryan's approaching from the shadows of the alley leading into the lot. With his mask off and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, he shouldn't look intimidating, but somehow in the flickering firelight and with the stench of gasoline in the air, it still makes a shiver run down Michael's spine. He hadn't thought anyone would be able to find him here, and suddenly he wants to slip away into the darkness, to curl up and hide his face, something too close to shame crawling under his skin._

_"Who told you I was here?" he snaps._

_"You did," Ryan replies, and Michael stares at him. Ryan inches closer, carefully. Some people would be surprised at the gentleness in the Vagabond's face; not Michael. He's seen enough of it by now._

_Ryan. His Ryan. Ryan who's been so wonderful that Michael nearly managed to forget just how broken he was -_ is.

_"What do you mean?" he blurts out. He steps back when Ryan starts getting close; he looks hurt, but doesn't push it, keeping his distance. The fire's hot against the side of Michael's face, nearly hot enough to hurt._

_"You told me once that back when you first joined the crew you'd come out here sometimes when you were thinking of running away, when things started to get overwhelming and you needed to get the anger out. Needed to stop yourself being stupid about not being good enough to be here." He shrugs with a little smile. "Figured when you got so upset earlier that old habits might die hard."_

_Michael stares at him. Something's warm in his chest._ He remembered _. But it dies away quickly - Ryan, of all people, shouldn't be the one here to see this. The anger, the violence, the flames._

_"You shouldn't be here," he says darkly, turning to pick up his canister of petrol again._

_"I think this is exactly where we both need me to be," Ryan counters. He reaches out and takes Michael's hand, stopping him. Michael stiffens, and stares up at him - but he can't help softening at the sight of Ryan's calming blue eyes. He doesn't look angry, or scared._

_"It's Gemini, isn't it?" Ryan prompts softly._

_Michael swallows past the stone in his throat._

_"The things they do, Ryan," he manages to choke out. "I was that bad, once."_

_"But not any more," Ryan says firmly. He takes Michael by the shoulders; he starts to twist away, but Ryan holds firm until Michael finally manages to meet his eyes. "Hey, hey - that's not you. I know it isn't."_

_"You haven't heard everything that I did-"_

_"There's nothing you could tell me that would make me hate you."_

_"How can you be so sure?" Michael demands. His eyes are stinging and it isn't just from the smoke - Ryan sounds so calm, so certain, and he's trembling with how much he wants to let himself believe him._

_"Because I know you, Michael. I know your limits. I know that you made a very difficult choice to leave, and I know that you were a child forced into things that you barely understood. Besides," Ryan says, and his eyes darken slightly, "I've done bad things too."_

_Michael catches his breath - but when Ryan pulls him forward, his body doesn't resist; he falls against the other man's chest and lets himself embrace him. It's hard to breathe, and when he closes his eyes he can still see the flickering glow on the backs of his eyelids. But the fire isn't giving him the relief it usually does, the rush of adrenaline that drains everything else away - no, it's Ryan, and the warmth of his body, the protective fold of his arms, that finally makes it all slip away, leaving him nothing but exhausted. Yes,_ Ryan _\- things are different now, it's not just Michael, it's the two of them, and everything will be okay as long as he's here-_

"Ryan! Ryan! Where the fuck are you-"

Michael breaks off into a coughing fit, stumbling sideways and steadying himself against the side of a building. His legs are weak and shaky, and his whole chest feels tight. He can barely catch his breath before he starts choking again. Around him the world is dark with smoke, curling around his shoes, obscuring the street around him, cut through with flashing pinpoints of light.

The sparking wires of the electric pole that fell down-

The bright streetlamp on the corner of the road-

And the faint, firey glow of the burning car in the distance, lighting the smoke around it up a bloody red, like the distant entrance to hell. Michael slumps against the wall. Everything hurts and he can't breathe and he doesn't know where the others are.

Jesus, it's just all gone to shit.

They'd been careful, approaching the disaster zone to see what might have happened. It was still early enough, and the weather so bad, that there hadn't been many people about, but the few civilians in the area were already fleeing and screaming.

The van that Fisher's people were in had been hit by some sort of explosive - a grenade launcher, Michael would guess - and had veered off the road to smash into a series of power lines. As he, Ryan and Gavin watched from around the corner, they'd seen the Red Hand emerge from the surrounding buildings and wrench open the doors, looking for survivors. They'd clearly not found whoever it was they were looking for, and it quickly became apparent that they'd expected the deal - and expected the Fakes to be in the vehicle with them.

That was where things had gone wrong. One of them must've been up on the roof of a building nearby, sniping, and they’d caught sight of the three of them approaching the area. The next thing they knew, someone was taking shots at them, and the three of them had scattered-

Except the Hand, alerted, had pulled on gas masks, and the next thing Michael knew more explosions were ringing out, followed by smoke bombs, and he'd only survived because he'd managed to squeeze into a little crevice between a post box and the wall of a nearby building. When his ears stopped ringing everything had been deathly silent.

Now he has no idea if they're still out there, with their rifles and grenade launchers.

No idea where the others are, if they're okay.

All he knows is that it's dark, and the rain is still pouring down, and everything around him is a red haze, and he's more scared than he's ever been.

But he has to find them, he has to _fucking find them_ , and he pauses and struggles to draw a deep breath, collecting himself. He rubs at his eyes, which are watering so badly he can barely see. He's soaked through and shivering but otherwise unhurt.

_Come on. Fucking come on. You need to find them._

Pushing himself off the wall, he stumbles on, nearly tripping over some of the debris on the ground. In the dark and rain it's nearly impossible to see-

But as he gets closer to the burning remains of the van, he catches sight of a dark figure in the smoke. He freezes, ready to dive back behind cover - but they're darting from the broken remains of another car to behind a chunk of rubble, clearly not wanting to be seen. They wouldn't be running it they were in the Red Hand, he figures, and gingerly approaches.

It's Gavin. He recognises the other man as he gets closer, even if it's difficult to see, and an intense relief floods through his whole body.

"Gavin," he hisses, as he gets closer- the other man jumps, and then whirls around. His face crumples when he sees Michael, and he rushes towards him, clinging to him, burying his face in Michael's shoulder. Michael hugs him back, both of them embracing so tightly the breath's nearly crushed out of him.

"Michael," Gavin chokes out - he's nearly crying - "Michael, Michael, you're okay."

"Easy, Gav. I'm fine."

"We didn't know where you were and we weren't sure-"

_We_. That single word makes the rest of the tension leach from Michael's body; he collapses to his knees, Gavin sinking down with him, their arms still wrapped tightly around each other. They're okay. They're both okay.

"We all got out of it. Somehow we all got out of it," he whispers against Gavin's hair, and leans down to kiss him on the temple. Gavin's shaking hard and Michael pulls back a little. It's hard to see in just the dim glow of the firelight, but as he focuses on the other man, he suddenly freezes in horror, his blood running cold and his previous dread flooding back in.

Gavin's entire front is stained dark, nearly black. He's wet and it's not just from the rain.

Blood.

A whole fucking lot of it, and on his hands too, Michael's realising - sticky and staining Michael everywhere he touched him too. He runs his hands over the other man, frantically.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Gav, you're hurt-"

"I'm fine," Gavin gasps, grabbing his hands. "Michael, I'm fine, but Ryan-"

_Ryan._

Just like that all his fears come slamming back in. He realises how pale Gavin's face is, the smear of blood across his temple like he tried to push his hair back when his hands were already covered in red, and his stomach sinks. Gavin stumbles to his feet and grabs Michael's hand, tugging him with him. The stickiness of his fingers makes Michael feel sick.

"How bad is it?" he manages, as Gavin leads him around the wreckage of the van. He's barely conscious of the danger, of their enemies still out there somewhere. Worst-case scenarios flood his mind, each one barely registering before some new horror takes its place. He's seen what explosions do to a body, what burns do, and they were so close, and taken so by surprise-

"He's stable, but we can't move him," Gavin whispers back. "He got shot, Michael."

"Shot?" Michael's heart squeezes painfully and for a moment he can't breathe. “He's bleeding-"

"Yeah." Gavin's face is white and pinched, and he's clutching Michael's hand so tightly it hurts. "He's calling Burnie now, but I came to find you."

He leads Michael down a dark side street, filled with scattered garbage from where the explosion blasted several dumpsters open. A stinking nook in the wall is covered in newspaper and cardboard, broken glass bottles and assorted rubbish - but in the light from the glowing screen of a cellphone on the floor, Michael sees Ryan, huddled against the wall.

He tears his hand from Gavin's grasp and rushes to his side, ducking down and squeezing in next to him. Ryan turns to him, and his eyes widen in relief. He reaches up to touch Michael's cheek instantly.

"You're okay," he whispers, and Michael can see the distant panic in his red-rimmed eyes and knows the last few moments must've been fucking terrifying for him as well.

"I'm fine. I managed to hide. What happened?" His voice is cracking but he can't bring himself to care, touching Ryan's face, his chest. He wants to embrace him, to collapse into his arms, but is too scared of hurting him to do anything.

Ryan shifts and grimaces, hand going to his side.

"One of the sniper's shots caught me. Grazed my leg pretty fucking deeply," he says, gesturing down. There's a torn strip of cloth tightly wound around his leg, packed tight but still already spotting through with blood. "Some of the shrapnel got me in the side as well. Nothing life threatening," he adds, but Michael still frowns.

You can't tell how bad a wound is, not like this, and definitely not when they're pinned down with no idea how long they'll be here. Even if Ryan's not immediately in danger, he's still bleeding heavily, could have something going on internally they don't know about, could take a turn for the worse in an instant. He's pale and clammy when Michael takes his hand, and he bites his lip, upset.

"We need to get you out of here," he says firmly. "Where's the Red Hand now?"

"They went somewhere, I saw them," Gavin says quietly, moving to kneel beside them.

"Where?" Michael demands. "They know they didn't kill us. Those guys don't just quit, especially if the Harts are gonna be on the way-"

"They're already here," Ryan says, and Michael freezes and turns to him.

"What?" he demands.

"They're already here," Ryan repeats grimly. "I just spoke to Burnie on the phone while Gavin went to find you. He just got new intel in that said the Harts were gonna arrive at an airstrip just south of AC. Sent people to intercept them only to find it was two decoys. The people we've been tracking the whole time, who Blaine thought were on the way? They were fakes. The Harts have been in the city since just after we captured Clayton, we just never knew it. They've been here, inside, the entire fucking time, and they brought the Red Hand with them. They must've monitored our operations, known about the deal."

"Jesus Christ," is all Michael can say. He feels sick and numb and horribly helpless. He knew Gemini were smart but to find out they've been one step ahead of them this entire time is fucking terrifying. Suddenly it's like the first time they heard of Gemini all over again, when they weren't sure how many of them there were or what their intentions in AC were or if they were about to get involved in a war against someone far stronger than they were.

He slumps back against the wall and puts his head in his hands for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. Ryan tries to sit up and move to him, but freezes, gasping in pain. Gavin puts a hand on his shoulder to hold them still.

"Come on, guys," he says, and Michael looks up at him in surprise. There's a resolute determination in his face - he'd thought Gavin, of the three of them, would be the one freaking out right now. But his strength fuels Michael to pull himself together a little. "Burnie said they're close to where we are now, in something called a mobile operations centre."

"Geoff was looking into those," Michael hears himself say numbly. "We didn't realise we could even get one here yet."

"They're heading towards Eastside. Apparently they want to reclaim that, first. That's close enough to where the tank is that Burnie can bring it there, but we need to stall them. If they get over the bridge everything's lost. But if we can hold them off just for a little bit, he can get there and wipe them out. Then all this will be over."

"Ryan can't move," Michael protests, and Gavin swallows a few times.

"I'll go on my own," he says. "You stay here with him until Geoff can come and pick you up."

There's a moment of silence as it sinks in. Michael and Ryan glance at each other, a shared look of incredulity and fear.

"Absolutely fucking not," Michael snaps immediately, but Gavin's already getting to his feet.

"No one else in the crew is close enough to do this," he says - his voice is shaking, but his eyes are fierce - "Besides, out of everyone, I have the best chance."

"Gavin," Ryan says, and his voice is tight and flat, "Do not fucking go. Wait for someone else, you can't rush in alone-"

"It's the Harts," Michael pleads, "Come on, Gav- hell, _I'll_ go, you stay here with Ryan-"

"No," Gavin says, and Michael can see how scared he is, can see him shaking, "I have to do this. Don't you see? If they take this city then there's _nothing_ , there's nothing for _all_ of us - I was weak for too long, Michael, I let them hurt a lot of people."

"It wasn't your fault," Michael pleads - he gets to his feet now and grabs Gavin's arm, drawing him close, looking at him pleadingly. "You know that-"

"I can't let them hurt you, too. I'm going to do this. I'm the best thief they've ever seen," he adds, with a weak sort of laugh. "They'll never see it coming."

"You don't have an earpiece," Michael says hysterically, "If something happens we won't know-"

"I worked for years without anyone having my back, Michael," Gavin points out. He swallows hard. "I'll be fine. We don't have time to argue about this."

Michael grips helplessly at the front of his shirt - Gavin looks down for a moment, drawing a trembling breath before he suddenly leans forward and kisses him. Michael's eyes widen in surprise, but he clutches Gavin tightly and kisses him back, frantically, drinking in every second like it might be their last. It's over too soon, and then Gavin is slipping from his grasp and walking backwards, glancing between the two of them. Michael sees him swallow, hard.

"I love you," he says, addressing it to both of them.

Ryan's staring at him, eyes wide and damp with tears, mouth open a little. He can't seem to get any words out at all. When Gavin crouches by his side and presses a kiss to his temple he can barely even react.

And then he's gone, into the darkness and smoke and lashing rain, and Michael's fists clench helplessly by his sides. Ryan's sitting, shellshocked and staring vacantly after him, and after a moment Michael crumples again and presses close to his side.

"He's gonna get hurt," Ryan whispers, brokenly, and Michael squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He's terrified, but he has to be the brave one, here. If it feels like someone's punched him in the stomach, if he can barely breathe, if he can't stop thinking about Gavin alone out there - it has to be ten times worse for Ryan.

"He's stronger than anyone thinks," he replies, putting an arm around Ryan's shoulders and tugging him close. He's worryingly cold and Michael tries not to think about the spreading blood under his leg, about how shallow his breathing's starting to sound. "You trust him, don't you? After the things we've seen him do?"

"I trust him, of course I do, but the Harts-"

"If anyone can predict their next move it's Gavin," Michael points out. "He's seen the worst of them. Geoff's on his way, Ryan. He'll be sending people to help him, too. This won't be the end. It can't be. Doesn't matter how strong they are, how smart. They're not like us."

"They're not. The good guys don't always win."

"But we have things that they don't. Like Burnie's help, and allies in this city, and each other." It sounds stupidly sentimental, and Michael doesn't quite believe it himself. But Ryan doesn't argue, just drops his head against Michael's shoulder, eyes slipping shut.

"If you say so," he mumbles, or something like that, and Michael's heart flutters nervously.

"Ryan?" he prompts. "Stay awake. We need to wait for Geoff."

He reaches up and touches Ryan's cheek. It's cold, and he's trembling. Michael curses.

"Ryan," he prompts, and shakes him until Ryan's eyes open again. They're bleary and unfocused, and Michael's heart clenches. The rollercoaster of emotions makes him feel like he's being pulled every which way; he'd thought he'd lost them both, then found them again, but now Gavin's left and Ryan, Ryan looks weak, and Michael tugs him upright and cups his cheek, waiting for their eyes to meet.

"Stay with me," he whispers, and sounds more broken than he ever has before. "I know it hurts but I need you to stay with me."

"'m not going anywhere," Ryan murmurs, and Michael manages the faintest smile.

"Good," he says, "Because I can't lose you, Ryan. All of this means nothing if you're gone. Just hang in there, okay?"

Ryan nods, and Michael tugs him close and presses a kiss to his hair, his arms wrapped around him tightly like if he tries hard enough he can hold him together.

He isn't used to this.

Being the one who's left behind, who has to wait, nothing but faith and hope to fuel him. He's used to being the man holding the gun, lighting the match - to being able to control what's around him, even if it's through destroying it.

Now he thinks of Gavin, fleeing through the dark and the rain, silent as a shadow - of the powerful Vagabond lying here in his arms, struggling to stay awake.

He doesn't know why Ray pops into his head next, except that the other man spent a lot of nights like this - lying up on a roof in torrential conditions, staring through the night-vision scope of his rifle, waiting for his target to move into the crosshairs. He wonders where the other man is, right now. If he's on a job, or safely at home playing video games. If he's with someone else, someone new, someone he loves and who loves him. Something sad rises up in his chest; not angry, not even quite bitter. Something that wishes they'd had someone else on the roofs tonight watching their back, someone who might've saved them. Someone Michael could reach out to now, for comfort.

He shakes himself.

_Tonight the past gets left behind. Tonight Ryan will realise he has nothing to be scared of, because Gav will succeed and come back just fine. Tonight Gavin won't have to fear the Harts anymore; we'll reclaim this city for our own. And tonight - tonight you won't be the one to make anybody bleed or burn. You learn to believe. None of you are scared, lost boys anymore._

_Tonight we grow up._  


* * *

 

 

**xxxv. past, present, future**

_"The bell's gone."_

_Gavin looks down from where he'd been nestled high in the boughs of one of the old oak trees behind their school, reading. His heart's pounding automatically, body braced in fear. Someone approaching him, after all, someone finding his hiding places and coming to get him rarely ends well._

_But it's Dan Gruchy standing at the base of the tree, hands on his hips and staring quizzically up at him._

_He relaxes a little, though he still frowns suspiciously. Just yesterday George and the others had caught him after their final class and thrown all his books into the fountain behind the school. They'd been about to shove him in as well when Dan had intervened. The two of them had rarely spoken before; Gavin mostly knew him as one of the sporty boys. Quiet in class. Spoke to his mates on the football team but not really anyone else. He had no idea why he'd stepped in - or what he want might now, considering Gavin had scuttled off yesterday with a muttered thanks, too anxious about having to write to his great-uncle for new books to really think about what else had happened._

_"What do you want?" he asks now, still perched up high and out of reach._

_"Want?" Dan stares up at him in confusion. "Nothing. Just curious what you're doing up there. You're going to be late for maths."_

_"I'll come in a moment." He grips nervously at the tree branch he's sitting on, loath to come down just yet. For all he knows this could be some trick or trap, other boys hiding around the gardens waiting for Dan to lure him down._

_Dan stares at him. Then it seems to dawn on him. His face twists._

_"I'm not gonna hurt you, you know," he says, a little defensively. "Helped you out yesterday, didn't I?"_

_"Yes," Gavin replies. "Why?"_

_"'cause those boys are tools. They've been picking on you since you got here. It isn't fair. No one sticks up for each other around here. They've been handed things their whole lives on a silver platter. None of that's worth anything, not really."_

_Gavin bites his lip. It's a funny sort of speech coming from a year 10 student, but Dan sounds sincere, and he did help yesterday. Something flutters in his chest that he hasn't felt in a long time - something close to hope. Cautiously, he swings down from the tree, clutching his books tightly as he lands a few feet from Dan. The other boy steps forward and Gavin can't help his flinch; Dan stops short, eyes widening. He shuffles his feet awkwardly for a moment, and Gavin can't help but wonder why he's the one who suddenly seems scared. Dan's a big kid, has clearly already had his growth spurt and filled out, and he's one of the best football players in their grade. Why should he be nervous?_

_"I, um. I forgot my calculator and I haven't really got any friends in maths. Mind if I sit with you in class?" he asks._

_Gavin stares at him. His instinct is to refuse, to pull away and protect himself. But Dan's looking down now, cheeks faintly flushed, and again that flash of hope sparks in the bottom of Gavin's chest. Maybe this is a bad idea - but he can't stop himself from nodding, from at least giving it a try._

_"Okay," he whispers, and Dan's smile is wide and genuine._

_"Great!" he says. Then, "Shit, we'll have to run to get there on time. Mr Baker's a terror when it comes to people being late. Come on, come on!"_

_He turns and starts running and Gavin jogs to catch up - both of them laughing when they nearly stumble over the uneven ground, breathless giggles as Dan struggles to open the school doors, and as they sprint side by side with the exhilarated urgency that can only come from kids trying to get themselves out of trouble, for the first time in nearly his whole life Gavin finally feels like this is someone he belongs with-_

Gavin stumbles, and nearly falls.

He's past the destruction now, the shrapnel, the smoke. He's not injured. But he's drenched to the bone and shivering hard, and it's difficult to see in the dark. He pauses a moment, catching his breath.

He's certain the Red Hand went this way, and he's pretty sure he knows where the mobile operations centre is. Like he told Michael and Ryan, he knows this part of the city pretty damn well, and something as big as the M.O.C. will definitely be in what he knows is a wide avenue that opens out from an underground tunnel under the bay - used for storage and transporting cargo once, but long abandoned after it was the site of an accident many years ago and deemed unsafe.

"Come on," he mutters, as he forces himself upright. He's so cold he can barely feel his fingers and toes, but he still manages to stay light on his feet as he slips through the shadows after them. "Come on, come on-"

He's scared.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't. Not when the very thought of the Harts here in this city is enough to make him feel sick. Out there in the dark, under their noses this whole time - two venomous snakes coiled and ready to bite, dark goddesses who watched over the night's chaos. Even the storm suddenly seems like some machination of theirs. But his body moves of its own accord, and he never once thinks of turning back. How could he, when the others are sitting back there in the dark, Ryan bleeding out onto the filthy wet concrete, and Michael, _Michael-_

-

_(He remembers those late nights in the safe house, when they were flooded with work tracking down the Lost, and he was both desperate to sleep and overwhelmed with the sheer volume of things he had to do, terrified of disappointing Clayton, disappointing the Fakes, failing failing failing-_

_And there’s Michael, Michael who seems so suddenly determined to get to know him. Michael who sits up with him, doing his own thing, offering to help Gavin with his. Michael who makes him warm milk with honey and vanilla, who brings him a blanket when the temperature drops at midnight and pesters him to take his work to the couch where it’s more comfortable._

_Michael who he tentatively starts to laugh with, who almost makes it enjoyable to be working together on something. In those moments he can nearly forget about his situation - nearly let himself forget - can tentatively start to enjoy those budding moments at the start of a new friendship, figuring each other out, chuckling over every little thing and sharing endless stories and opinions._

_"I'll admit I have no fucking clue what school's actually like," Michael says at one point, "But dude, I wish I'd been in those classes with you. I would've shown those assholes what bullying really is."_

_"Michael, no," Gavin giggles softly - aghast, but secretly just a little pleased._

_"I mean it. Plus you and I would've got on fucking spectacularly, I'm sure. Played pranks on the teachers. Midnight feasts. I've read Enid Blyton."_

_"It's nothing like that in real life," Gavin says, rolling his eyes, "Especially not at a boy's school."_

_"Well, we're having our midnight feast right now," Michael says, and then with an affected and rather horribly inaccurate British accent, "Pass me the sardines, Sally! Can I have a spoonful of condensed milk? Where's the bread and butter?"_

_And just to have someone laughing with him rather than at him is such a relief that for a moment he can't stop, doubled over and shaking hard, his face flushed and warm, the fear blissfully forgotten - and when he does look up Michael’s laughing too, but watching him with a funny pleased smile, like he’s the one trying for Gavin's attention, here, for his approval._

_It reminds him of a maths class filled with hushed giggles, exchanged gleeful smiles, whispered questions, waiting eagerly for each new response, for the first time starting to feel safe in his own skin-)_

-

He reaches the avenue, a quiet backstreet closed off from the rest of the city by two large industrial buildings. In the distance he hears the faint wail of sirens, and his breath locks in his throat. He swallows it down.

_They'll be fine. Geoff's probably picked them up by now, anyway. The cops aren't your real problem here. Not by a long shot._

He inches forward only to freeze when a light sweeps across the cobbled street. At the mouth of the tunnel is a large, dark hulking shape. It's the size of a cabin and pitch black. It's hard to see in the dim light, but the irregular shapes on the top look like mounted guns.

"Jesus bloody Christ," he whispers. It's at least three times the size of the damn tank. Somehow he hadn't expected it to be, like, a fucking building on wheels. He'd been thinking more along the lines of a caravan.

There's a large spotlight just in front of it, turning slowly so that the beam falls left and right across the space ahead of them. Gavin sees figures walking towards the door of the centre, one, two, three, four - everyone except the sniper. So they are back here, then. His shoulders relax a little - part of him had been worried he'd misjudged all this, that the Hand were still back in the streets hunting the others down.

But now that they're back, the Harts are probably going to get back on the move. He can't let that thing cross the fucking tunnel, or they’ll have a clear path to the bridge. If it gets to the other side of the water they'll have Eastside and it'll be hard - if not impossible - to uproot them, especially with the kind of weaponry he suspects that thing's packing.

The light sweeps towards him again, and he presses back into the dark doorway of one of the dilapidated buildings. Swiping the water from his eyes, he takes a deep breath and scans the area.

The shadowy figure of a man stands by the light. He's manually moving it, then. There are two others on either side of the doorway, keeping a watch over the lot, and Gavin twists and looks around. Two more up overhead on each of the buildings - and another sitting on a motorcycle by the water, though he seems to be on the phone. That's six guards overall, not counting any who might be watching from in the vicinity of the M.O.C.

_Okay. They're fairly spread out. They're not all looking at each other. You can approach from the ground, the water or above. That last one would be dangerous; in this weather the roofs will be slippery as fuck, and you have no equipment._

If he's gonna act, it has to be _now_. The sun'll be rising soon and any protection the darkness offers will be gone. He hasn't looked into the M.O.C.s enough to know what sort of entrances or exits they have - or what he'll even do once he's inside. His heart quickens as it hits him that the Harts are just metres away from him, cocooned inside that wicked black box.

_Break in? Or sneak into the tunnel and find some way of blocking it_ \- and the idea's coming to him, then. _That would be easier. And you just need to buy them some time - just enough for Burnie to get here. Hell, if that tank could come through the tunnel instead, the Harts would be pinned down with nowhere to go._

_You just have to get there first._

The sky is slowly turning grey, streaked with smoky red from the fires after the explosion. The morning news will be filled with the accident, with cries fearing new gang warfare. His eyes track mental paths across the avenue, running over each one, its possibilities, its pros and cons-

-

_(Just the other day Jeremy and Lindsay took him out to dinner at a little Japanese place in the city. Sitting together over bowls of steaming ramen, little plates of gyoza and fried octopus and fluffy soft pork buns, they talk to him about their lives, about how they ended up in Geoff's group, sharing before he even has to ask._

_After so long around Michael and Ryan, it’s strange to be out with someone else. Gavin’s quiet at first, shy, even if both of them have been nothing but lovely this entire time. But Lindsay’s so sweet, and Jeremy so obviously careful to be gentle, that it’s hard to keep his walls up, especially when he wants to trust them so badly._

_They’re seated by the window, and an expensive jewellery store across the road is having some sort of promotion. A line of people stretches nearly down the street._

_"How would you rob that place?" Lindsay asks, turning to him with a cheeky glint in her eye. "Back when you were with Gemini we'd hear story after story about the shit you were pulling off for them. It was damn impressive."_

_"Pretty sure Geoff was a bit jealous," Jeremy adds with a grin, and Gemini can't help his smile. Even the reminder of Gemini can't bring his spirits down, not now, after the wine he's drunk and the good food, and the warmth of their smiles._

_"Well, let's see," he says, and leans forward, staring out the window. "Lowest storey of that building, two above it - one looks like a consulting office of some sort, the top is an apartment - given the type of building they aren't linked between storeys, so coming in from on top is impossible. The front entrance faces the main road and there are two security cameras on the other side of the street, so that's ruled out too. The back entrance faces a club that's open all night. No way you could break in without the bouncer of that place noticing. So that rules out going in while it's closed."_

_"Wait." Jeremy leans forward intently. "You're saying you'd rob it during broad daylight?"_

_"I'm saying I'd rob it right now. Look - they're having some sort of promotion.The store's more crowded that it ever usually would be during the day. They have extra security guards but also a shitload more employees and they're all wearing similar things."_

_"Are you suggesting you'd disguise yourself and just walk right in?" Lindsay demands. A slow grin’s spreading over her face._

_"Exactly. They're handing out some sort of sample or coupon, I assume that's why so many people are lining up. Come in the back with a cardboard box and everyone would just assume I was bringing more. Take the chance to pocket some jewellery under the guise of getting them out of the drawers for customers and I'm gold to sneak back out. You'd have to sell it, and know when no one's looking, but sometimes right under people's noses is the place they least expect something out of the ordinary."_

_"Jesus, Free. You've got some massive, ironclad balls," Jeremy says, and Gavin can't help but let out a startled laugh, looking down, picking at the sleeves of his new shirt._

_"Not really," he murmurs - if anything, he's thought himself a coward for a long time - but Lindsay reaches out and touches his shoulder gently._

_"I can't wait to have you with us," she whispers, and there’s such sincerity in her voice and her smile that Gavin can't worry or doubt, not in that moment - in that moment he can, for once, let himself feel something like brave-)_

-

"This is a stupid fucking idea," Gavin mutters under his breath, as he shifts and pulls his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face. He tugs the hood of the guard's heavy windbreaker down to cast his face into shadow and shifts the rifle that's slung over his shoulder.

It hadn't been difficult to climb up to the roof of one building and immobilise the guard. He'd been silent enough that the man hadn't even seen him coming, and in the lashing wind and rain Gavin had easily been able to tase him and knock him out before he even knew what hit him.

Burnie had briefed him on the members of the Hand earlier. The sniper's apparently a similar height and build to him, and in the dimness of twilight he hopes they won't be able to notice he isn't a woman - all he has to do is get past them. It's a fucking ballsy plan but the way the guy's sweeping the light across the road, he can't see any other way to get past, not in time.

"Come on, come on," he whispers, and takes a deep breath. _You can do this. You're the fucking Shadow, aren't you? If there's ever a time in your life to own it, it's now._

He strides forward, confident as you please, as though he has every reason to be there. The sweeping light moves towards him, and then freezes in place. He glances over at the man operating it and gives a casual wave, then gestures in the direction of the tunnel. There's a long, awkward pause in which he isn't sure if he's managed to fool him or not - then the light moves on.

For a moment he's relieved. But then he sees the man turning towards the others standing by the door, and calling out to them - presumably letting them know that the sniper's back. Gavin walks faster, heading for the tunnel - they don't seem suspicious, but it's better to be safe than sorry, and if he can just get across this bit of ground he can do what he needs to and get the hell out of here.

But then he hears the rev of an engine behind him, and the crunch of wheels against gravel. Glancing over his shoulder, he stiffens as he realises two large black cars are heading for the centre. He keeps walking, ignoring them as though he's meant to be there - but they move up alongside him, and he fights not to let his shoulders hunch. He can see through the windows; more mercenaries, the sort Clayton used to hire as extra muscle when they had to go take over another gang's territory. In an open space like this, he has no chance of getting out alive if they start firing. He'll have to stand his ground, to pull this off somehow. It's either that, or fight-

-

_(His muscles still ache from his training session with Ryan the other day. He isn't unfit by any means, but this sort of high-intensity boxing workout is a lot different to the agility needed to run and climb. He dances back and forth around the punching bag, darting forward to jab at it with his fists, trying hard to strike just the way Ryan showed him. Sweat matts his hair together and makes his hands grow damp and warm in the gloves._

_An ill-timed blow makes the bag swing violently; it comes back and hits him in the face just hard enough to stun him and make him stumble back suddenly. Ryan’s by his side in an instant; he'd been at the next bag over._

_"Gav? You okay?"_

_A warm hand’s on his shoulder, and Gavin manages a smile. It’s still so nice, having someone who so easily touches him - feeling like he’s human and wanted and real. He isn't sure he'll ever get over little things like that._

_"I'm fine. Just fucked it up on that last punch."_

_"You're getting there," Ryan assures him. "Remember, this is just day one."_

_Gavin nods. But something must show in his face, a faint uneasiness he can't quite pinpoint that rose up the second he stopped hitting and the adrenaline ran down a bit - Ryan squeezes his shoulder._

_"Hey. What's up?"_

_"I never fought back," Gavin blurts out. "Not back when I was bullied at school. Not against the Harts or Clayton or anyone from Gemini. Not even against you and Michael."_

_Ryan's face falls a little, and Gavin reaches up and taps his hand._

_"I'm just... scared," he explains, "That I'm doing all this training, I'm trying so hard, but when the time comes I might not even be able to use it. I'll just freeze up and take it because that's what I'm used to."_

_Ryan's face softens. He draws Gavin into his arms - clumsily, with their wraps and boxing gloves - and holds him close for a moment._

_"Gavin, you are so much stronger than you realise," he whispers. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you'll freeze the first time it happens, maybe old fears will take over. But you're stronger than them. Little by little you'll fight through it. And Michael and I will be with you every step of the way. You don't have to be healed overnight- God knows I'm not."_

_Gavin manages a smile. Ryan sounds so sure, and it's true - for now, at least, this is about healing, this is about working through something. The fight isn't real, not yet, and at least if his punch does ever land it'll land hard. He hugs Ryan back, pressing his face against his chest for a moment, feeling the pound of his heart through the thin fabric of his tank top-)_

-

"Hey! Who's there?" one of the mercenary barks, rolling down the window. Gavin casts them a disinterested glance and tries to keep walking on, but the car draws closer and he's forced to stop. "Hey, I asked you a fucking question. Answer me."

"Just got back from my damn job." He attempts an American accent and hopes the sound of the rain will mask how bloody awful it is. "They got away. I'm headed to the other side of the city to track those fuckers down. Every second you delay me is another chance for them to run back to Ramsey."

"Stop there for a moment," the man orders, and Gavin freezes. His heart's pounding and every instinct is screaming for him to run, especially as the car door opens and a few of them start to get out. If both cars are full that's twelve fucking mercenaries, that's way more than he can take on, and for a moment, for a terrible moment he's quite sure he's done for-

And then he sees her.

Clambering out of the backseat is a woman whose face he had forgotten until this moment, who'd passed into the back of his memory, buried under all the abuses he'd suffered since. Her face is as scarred and weathered as it was the last time he saw her - God, six months ago? Longer, even - and he never even learned her name.

But he recognises her, he knows it. The older woman mercenary who'd shown him the only skerrick of kindness he'd ever gotten in his time at Gemini. He'd assumed their paths would never cross again, considering Clayton never hired her after that one mission. But here she is now, scowling at him and raising her gun, and Gavin swallows hard.

It was barely kindness.

It's pathetic that he even remembers it, that it meant so much to him. It wasn't like she ever stood up for him, like they even had a proper fucking conversation, like he has any damn reason in the world to trust her. Hell, if she’s worked for Gemini twice now she’s obviously the sort of merc who’s unscrupulous about what jobs they take.

But she had a name tattooed on her, he remembers - he noticed it once when she reached to pass him her knife, across her wrist when her sleeve rode up. The colours bright and strong despite how it’d stretched slightly as her skin sagged with age - clearly she’d taken pains to take care of it. _Lucy_.

She’d loved someone enough, once, to inscribe their name on her forever. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything - but right now he can’t run and he can’t hide, and the men with guns are moving towards him, and she clearly hasn’t recognised him yet with his face covered-

He’ll be laying all his chips in one basket here. He feels his heart slamming-slamming-slamming as the seconds slip by and he has to decide if he’ll trust her, a stranger, based on nothing but a gut instinct - if he’ll reach out and take this stupid chance-

-

_(“Can’t believe this is the last bloody time we’re gonna set foot in this place,” Dan grunts, as they stand at their school gates. They’ve cleared out their lockers and dorms, and Gavin’s graduation sash is too big and keeps slipping off his shoulder. There’s a funny, heavy melancholy settling over him._

_“Unless one of us becomes a teacher,” he manages. “Then we might find ourselves right back here.”_

_“Oh God, no,” Dan laughs. “You’d be a shite teacher, B.”_

_“Yeah but you could be a gym coach or something.”_

_“Not a fucking chance.” Dan’s laugh echoes through the empty courtyard. “Being the one in charge of dealing with all the assholes that come through here? I don’t damn think so.”_

_Gavin’s lips twitch a little. He looks down, shuffling his feet. Graduation felt very strange; he was oddly isolated. His great-uncle hadn’t come, of course, and Dan’s granddad was the one taking both of them home now - and the entire time his heart had been madly pounding with some sort of weird anxiety that he couldn’t quite pinpoint the cause of._

_He should be happy to be free of this place._

_His school years have been miserable, filled with nothing but torment and isolation. He hates everybody here with the sole exception of Dan, and the two of them have been talking and dreaming for months about the world that will open up to them once they leave, how they’ll finally be able to make something of themselves._

_He’s scared - that must be it. Scared that he’ll walk out those gates and it won’t feel like the weight’s been unchained from his ankles, like the world is just as small and shitty as before. Scared that with the security of the school’s routine gone, he’ll fall short of his own expectations, will prove himself nothing but a failure like the rest of them._

_It’s hard to be excited when you’re just fucking terrified, and at the tender age of eighteen he’s already having some sort of all-consuming existential crisis - but Dan reaches out then and nudges his arm, and grins his wide, cheeky grin, and Gavin feels his heart surge with a sudden unbearable fondness._

_“Thank you,” he blurts out._

_“Huh?” Dan replies, eloquently._

_Gavin swallows, a little embarrassed at such an unmanly display of affection - but he pushes on._

_“No better time to say it than when we’re leaving this place behind. Thank you - for putting up with my shit the last few years. For reaching out to me. For being my only damn friend in this whole place. I know it… it got you picked on a lot too, when you weren’t before, but I honestly don’t think I would still be here if you hadn’t been with me. So thank you, Dan. It means more than I can say.”_

_Dan looks shocked for a moment - then his face softens._

_“I didn’t have many real friends before you came along, either,” he points out, “In case you couldn’t tell from my desperate attempts to get you to like me at first.”_

_Gavin laughs, startled but pleased. Dan slings an arm around him and pulls him into a quick, tight hug._

_“So thank you for taking a chance on me back then. I know it must have been hard.”_

_Gavin manages a nod, hugging him back. Dan’s body is warm against his, and the air smells like approaching summer, and in the hush of the empty school for once the grounds actually seem beautiful, with the sun spilling through the leaves of the trees onto the dappled ground, and birds trilling in the eaves of the old buildings. He’s not sad to leave this place behind, but he’ll miss the good times with Dan - retreating out here to the gardens where no one could bother them, playing their own games of kick-ball and climbing trees, sharing the treats his grandfather would send him. There were happy moments, too, and as they pull apart and smile and Dan claps him on the shoulder to lead him out, he can’t help but be grateful that yes, he did take this chance-)_

_-_

“Why me?” the woman hisses. “Who the fuck are you?”

The darkness of the tunnel feels only marginally safer than the exposed area outside. At least the rain can’t get them here, but Gavin’s still shivering as he slumps against the wall. _I can’t believe this worked - at least for now._

For a moment as the mercenaries closed in around him, he’d thought he was undone. But he’d gathered his courage and turned to the woman and said, “Lucy told me to give you a message earlier, something about a new job. Come help me track down these assholes, I could do with the backup and I’ll tell you on the way. But tell these idiots to stop wasting my time first. I need to chase down the Fakes before they get out of here.”

The other mercenaries turned to the woman, who stared at him with hard eyes. But when she nodded, and waved for them to go on, it seemed they trusted one of their own enough to make the call - and moved along without further argument.

The code word had worked. But now the mercenary advances upon him, suspicious.

“Answer my fucking questions,” she grunts, and Gavin lifts his head.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He doesn’t know the woman but he’s certain she’s dangerous, and she already has one hand on her gun. But he’s gone too far to change his mind now, and he straightens up and pulls down his scarf, shoves back his hood. Meets her eyes.

“I needed to speak to you alone,” he says quietly. “Do you remember me?”

Her eyes widen.

“Course I remember you,” she replies, after a moment. “The Shadow. Gemini’s prized thief. Or you were - word on the street is you stabbed them in the back and you’re running with the Fakes now.”

“Something like that,” Gavin says. He bites his lip and steps forward. “I remembered the name on your tattoo and hoped you’d at least hear me out if I could get you alone. Last time we met-”

“It was one damn job, kid,” she spits, impatient and antsy now. He knows how this must look -  trying to convince her to defect, when the Harts are well known for what they do to traitors. Most people would’ve shot him the second they recognised him to curry the twins’ favour. The fact that she’s still listening is remarkable - but, he hopes, a sign he’s made the right call. “What do you want?”

“You were kind to me,” he says. “I worked with a shitload of different mercenaries while with Gemini and you’re the only one who ever treated me like a human. I never wanted to be in their crew. I was a prisoner and Clayton mistreated me the entire time I was under his control. So yeah, I fucking turned on them. Ramsey and his code keep the whole city a lot safer than it’ll be under the Harts’ control.”  
  
“What’s your point?” she demands. Her voice is tight, but Gavin can tell she’s listening intently.

“The Fakes have a tank and a lot of allies in this city. If the Harts get across that bridge, it might take a lot of time, it might cost lives, but Ramsey will win eventually. But it doesn't have to come to that. All I need to do is hold them off until the tank can get here. If you help me with that, the Fake AH Crew can protect you. Steady work for better people, and you'll be on the winning side. I'm sure Ramsey would reward you handsomely too. I'm asking you because you're the only one of them I'm remotely willing to take a chance on - and because I think kindness begets kindness and even if you thought nothing of it at the time, I'd like to repay you. So please - take a chance on me, too."

She's staring at him with narrowed eyes, and Gavin honestly can't tell if he's judged this correctly or not. But he holds her gaze steadily, and after a moment she inclines her head just a little.

"Seems like this is a sinking ship," she grunts. "Taking the battle to Ramsey's turf was always a risky idea. If there's a way to stop them here and now I'd rather make sure I'm out of the firing line."

"Thank you," Gavin whispers, but she flaps a hand impatiently and squats down, pulling a knife from her belt and beginning to scratch a map into the grimy floor of the tunnel.

"Emergency side hatch is your best bet to break into that thing. It opens into a storage passage. Avoid the control room - head to the back near where the engines are. There'll be people around but it's up to you to deal with them. You've got no chance of taking out the engines but if you open one of the control panels you'll see a bunch of red and yellow wires. They fire the guns. Cut those and that thing's not a death machine any more, it's just one big, real fucking easy to hit target. Just don't get yourself fucking caught. I'm not going in with you."

Gavin nods. She extends the knife to him and he takes it, meeting her eyes. She hardly looks friendly, but if Gavin's instincts are right, he doesn't think she'll turn on him.

"I'll distract the mercs out here with some supposed new intel," she says. "Get them out of here so if things go south you don't have an army right on your ass."

"Thank you," he whispers, but she just shrugs.

"Ramsey better pay me well, or it's your head on the line," she says, but not unkindly.

"I promise, he will."

She nods, and straightens up, striding off without another word. Gavin stares after her. It dawns on him that he still doesn't know her name.

"Who's Lucy?" he finds himself calling out, instead.

She pauses, her spine stiffening.

"She was my daughter," she replies, without turning around. The pain in her voice is familiar. It's the same he's heard in Ryan's. She walks on and Gavin bites his lip and sinks back against the wall.

He's still a little worried that she's going to turn on him, so he keeps a close eye on her, poised to run. But true to her word, she goes up to the rest of the mercs and says something that makes them all pile into the cars and drive back into the city. Gavin heaves a sigh of relief.

_Okay. That's one thing out of the way. You have a plan._ It's just as well she told him how to stop the mobile operations centre because he can't see a fucking thing in this tunnel that he could've used to block it off. It was a bit of a wishful plan now that he thinks about it - but that doesn't matter now. He pulls out his phone and calls Burnie, who answers right after the first ring.

"Gavin. What's your status now?"

"I've allied with a mercenary I knew when I was in Gemini. I think we can trust her. She's led some of them off and I'm about to sneak in and disable the Harts' weapons systems," he says, speaking a mile a minute. "They'll be a sitting duck once I do, but you have to be ready. Where's the tank?"

"On its way."

"They're through the harbour tunnel. Once I'm out I'll tell you where they're going, but I assume they're gonna head for the bridge. You can take them out there."

"Got it. Gav - the police are swarming the area where the van crash happened. They have no reason to suspect any of you are still around, but Michael and Ryan are trapped in there." Gavin's heart clenches. "But if we clash with the Harts in the tank they'll be drawn to us instead. So this mission has a duel purpose. We need a distraction to draw cops out of that other area." 

"Got it," Gavin whispers. His heart's pounding and he feels sick, imagining Ryan lying there, bleeding out slowly. Aside from Dan he's never had anyone he truly feared losing before, and it makes a heavy dread settle over him. There's more pressure on his shoulders than there ever has been before. It's not just him on the line here. 

"Stay safe, Gavin," Burnie urges. "You can do this. I'll see you soon, okay? Hang in there."

He's worried Gavin's alone, he knows, but there's little to be done about it.

"You too," Gavin says, and hangs up. He walks to the mouth of the tunnel and peers out. It's still quite dark, the smoke from the accident settled into a thick smog over the area - but firey streaks of dawn light glimmer through the gaps in the clouds. For a moment the world, the city, the darkness, seem too powerful - seem like they could consume anything, like Gavin and Ryan and Michael and all the rest of them are nothing, standing helpless in their path. He shakes those thoughts off.

_You can do this._  

The mercenaries have pulled entirely out of the avenue by now. The path to the operations centre is clear. 

_You can do this._  

The light sweeps over the lot again. He braces himself to move. 

_You can do this._  

Darkness falls again, and in the brief shadows he begins to run-

 

* * *

 

 

Honestly, Gavin is so focused that the job itself is mostly a blur. Later when Michael and Ryan ask him to tell them, he won't be able to recall much of what happened - it all takes place nearly on autopilot, the adrenaline pounding through his veins, every muscle pulled taut as he moves as silently as possible. There are people in there, but he barely remembers avoiding them. It's other things that stick - like the glaring fluorescent lights inside the centre, and how his chest hurt from holding his breath, and how his whole body ached from squeezing himself in nooks and crannies on his way to the engine room. 

The daze lasts until the moment he cuts all the wires. Then an alarm sounds, shrieking wildly and accompanied by various flashing lights. Running footsteps echoing immediately through the halls make him panic; there's nowhere to go in this little room, and as he slips back out the way he came he hears a shout behind him. 

"There!"

"After him!" 

The escape hatch looms ahead of him, still open. He dives out face-first and lands in a clumsy roll on the concrete outside. A gun fires after him and he flinches as the bullet cracks against the gravel close to his head, one ear popping and ringing relentlessly. He's already scrambling to his feet, but he hears the doors of the centre opening and people beginning to come after him. 

"Get him!" 

He sprints for the tunnel only to flinch as the wide arc of the light falls onto him. Mercenaries are pouring from one door, rushing towards him with guns raised. There's a roar of an engine and suddenly a ramp is descending at the back of the centre. A motorbike speeds down it and pulls into an arc, wheeling around to block off the entrance of the tunnel and zooming towards him. Two riders cling to one another on it. They aren't wearing helmets, and he catches a flash of blond hair. A chill runs down his spine. 

_Get out of here._  

Burnie will be heading for the bridge. They may not have realised yet that their centre is a sitting duck without weapons, and he makes a snap decision. He won't just escape - he'll lead them right to their fucking death. 

He dives sideways as the bike roars towards him - pelts for the tunnel, zig-zagging, hearing the patter of bullets behind him. Muffled shouts ring out behind him, but he ignores them, racing into the darkness. 

He's exhausted. 

It's been a long day and he's already exerted himself so much - but this is it, the final stretch. He sprints faster than he ever has in his life. Behind him he hears the great rumble of the mobile operations centre starting up. The motorbike is what he's most scared of; it's pulling up behind him, and when he glances over his shoulder he squints against its bright lights, glowing brightly and headed straight for him like a comet hurtling towards the earth. 

On foot he doesn't have much of a chance. But he's smaller, and there's scattered rubbish and debris in this old tunnel that it's easier for him to navigate. He manages to stumble out the other end just as they draw up close behind him, and sees the bridge ahead. 

Close, now- 

Something rams into his back and he's sent flying through the air. He skids across the road, the tarmac scraping his skin raw everywhere it's exposed, the breath knocked out of him, feeling ribs snap and skin split with every impact against the ground. He lands, sprawled and broken, at the edge of the bridge, and for a moment he sees nothing but stars. His head rebounded off the ground and everything around him is spinning. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._  

The motorbike stops. He can see, from where he's lying, the shadows of two sets of slender legs climbing off, cast across the ground in the beam of its headlights. 

_Get up. Get up._  

He eases himself upright, choking on blood, everything in agony. It hurts to breathe too deeply, but he can still move. The bike must've slowed so that they wouldn't hurt themselves, too.  But Gavin sees them stalking towards him. In his blurred vision they look like ghosts, long and pale and wavering with each step, and he gets to his feet and immediately cries out, stumbling sideways and clutching at his ribs, tears leaking freely down his face. It hurts to stand, but he can't stay here. He can see one of them pulling something from her back.

A crossbow. 

"Who are you?" a high, clear voice calls out. "One of Ramsey's - Collins, was that it?"

They haven't recognised him yet, he realises. Then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing down. 

_'Nearly at bottom of bridge,'_ Burnie's sent, and Gavin's heart leaps. He can hear the mobile operations centre coming through the tunnel. It's a beast of a thing; slow, but noisy. He stumbles to the edge of the bridge and looks down.

He's not far out enough to even be over the water yet. There's a hill that slopes down into the bay and a road leading along towards the hills that span the coastline some distance away. That's where Burnie will come from. The drop’s only a few feet down and he glances over his shoulder in time to see Liesel raise the crossbow. 

He doesn't give it a second thought before he flings himself over the edge again, crying out as he lands on his hands and knees. One wrist aches terribly and he's quite sure it's sprained; his ribs flare with pain, but he ignores it, rolling onto his back in time to see two blond heads peer over the edge at him. Liesel aims the crossbow again, pointed right at him- 

But then they look up, at something behind him. Gavin turns and his heart leaps as he sees the familiar dark form of the tank rounding the hill. It trundles towards them, a sleek, deadly black beast, and he staggers towards it. 

He wonders what must be running through their heads. Up on the bridge, there's nowhere to run - Gavin reaches the tank's side just as it lifts its gun, pointing directly at them even as they back away from the bridge's edge. They stare down at him and he sees the moment they recognise him - backs straightening, eyes widening. 

"Free!" a furious shout carries to him over the wind. 

He can only stand, panting, as next to him the tank thrums and fires off a shot. Stands hunched over and in pain - but proud as he watches the top of the bridge explode into flames, a great flaring shot like a risen sun, flames shooting up into the dawn sky, the twins obliterated in an instant. Over in a single shot. 

_We won_ , is all he can think, and promptly slumps to the ground in exhausted tears.

 

* * *

 

**xxxvi. afterlife**  

“Stay with me, Ryan- Ryan!” 

There’s a hand stroking his hair, softly, a warm body pressed against his, holding him close. It’s her. It’s morning, the day after a job. That’s why his whole body aches. Soon they’ll get up together and walk down the road to get breakfast the same way they always do. But it’s cold - did she leave the window open again? He reaches for the covers, hand fumbling through the air, but he hits what feels a lot like body armour instead, a hard chest, and frowns in confusion.

“Ryan. Get up. We have to go.” 

Michael’s blurry face comes into view, and the dream swims away. It wasn’t real. For a moment he thinks he has a fever again - but he feels nothing but cold, and weak. He remembers where they are - cold concrete floor under him, rain pelting down overhead. But now there’s something new - sirens, a constant, grating wail, red and blue washing over the floor under them. 

Michael’s arm hooks around his waist and he tugs Ryan to his feet only to stumble. Ryan can barely move, can’t seem to get his feet properly under him. He’s leaning entirely on Michael and as soon as he gets upright it feels like all the blood rushes from his head; the world sways, blackens at the edges- 

But Michael hoists him on and Ryan manages to take one step, two, each one sending blinding stabs of pain through his leg and side. He pushes on, vaguely aware that this is urgent.

“Go, go, go,” Michael’s hissing under his breath with each foot Ryan manages to put after the other. 

“S’happenin?” he hears himself murmur. 

“The tank’s here. Something blew up near the bridge. The police backed off to go deal with it, but there’ll be more coming. Geoff’s got the car nearby - we need to get out of here, stat.” 

The words mean something, or they should, but Ryan isn’t quite registering it. All he really caught was _Geoff_ , and that’s enough to make him understand that there’s a plan going on here, that he just has to hold on a little longer and then the rest of the crew will come, and he can sleep, and nothing will be so confusing. 

He stumbles as his leg gives out under him, leaning heavily on Michael, who holds him until the pain subsides a little. Michael, who’s solid and warm and real under his arm, Michael’s who’s _alive_ \- and a flash of panic jolts through Ryan then; there’s something he should be worried about, but he can’t quite remember _what_ \- but it’s not Michael, he’s not in danger. He doesn’t have to be scared for him. 

“You with me?” Michael asks, urging him on. They’re moving through the streets and the sun’s rising, the smoke’s dissipating into the morning air. Even the rain seems to have let up a little. It’d be easier to see if Ryan’s vision would just stop going out of focus every few seconds. 

“It’s cold,” he hears himself say - or try to. The words come out garbled and tripping over themselves, like someone jumbled all the letters and then his tongue tied itself in a knot getting them out. 

It is cold. 

It feels like they’re walking through a nuclear winter, a post-apocalypse. The ground’s covered in debris and the flaming hulls of cars surround them. The buildings are scorched and damaged and there are thick streaks of blood on the road around them, and the dead-silence is jarring. It’s like something from a nightmare- 

And there is Wendy. 

She’s standing in the doorway of one of the buildings they’re approaching, just behind a burning telephone pole. Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees her. His heart pounds sickly in his chest. No words will come out, but they draw closer, closer. Her face is pale and drawn, her eyes fixed on them, watching them intently. But as soon as they start to get close, she steps back into the dark doorway and vanishes. Nothing but the shadows from the fire flicker against the wall as they pass, and he’s too weak to tell Michael to stop. 

“Shit, you’re bleeding again.” 

Michael leans him against a nearby parked car and crouches down. Ryan can’t quite tell what he’s doing; his own eyes stay fixed vacantly out on the road. His thoughts are jumbled, too, and he can’t sort them out. Michael pulls something tightly around his leg and he hears himself scream - and in the bright flare of pain he sees her again, running between the buildings distantly, laughing- 

A child, she’s just a child here, with her hair in red pigtails. A sudden fear strikes him - they’re late for school, her brothers are after them, he needs to catch up- 

Then Michael pulls his arm over his shoulders again, shooting him a concerned look. They stumble on. Ryan feels half asleep. 

“Nearly there now,” Michael murmurs, and squeezes his arm, and he realises they’re shuffling down an alleyway into a backstreet and there’s a row of dark cars there, a crowd of people waiting for them, faces he knows but can’t quite put names to. They’ve all fled his brain- 

But they’re beckoning with open arms, and Wendy is among them. She’s standing at the back of the group, smiling, waiting. A warmth spreads through Ryan’s whole body for the first time, like a layer of frost is melting away. He feels himself break free from Michael and stumble forward towards her, hands reaching out, and she’s stepping forward to catch him- 

Everything goes black for a moment. A vague, falling sensation. 

He comes to a second later to noise and light that he was barely registering before. The sun, in the sky above them, filtering past the edges of the dark clouds. Explosions and sirens in the distance and the whirl of helicopters overhead. Screaming in the streets. At last he feels _awake_. 

“Ryan.” 

It’s Lindsay’s strong arms he’s in now, and the next thing he knows he’s slumping to the ground and there’s a blanket around his shoulders and they’re trying to put him into a car but he keeps twisting and trying to look around, trying to find her- 

“Gav, where’s Gavin?” Michael’s voice reaches his ears. 

_Gavin._ A jolt that nearly wakes him up - that’s who he was meant to be worried about; Gavin’s out there somewhere, he can’t remember where, just that he’s in terrible danger and Ryan can’t lose him. He twists frantically to try and find Michael and that’s when he sees her again, walking through all the others in the group, making her way down the street-

And then she’s gone. She walks away into the dawn light at the edge of the road and vanishes, but there’s a shape emerging from the same light, stumbling into view. It’s Gavin who staggers down the road towards them. He’s got one arm slung over Blaine’s shoulders, is bloody and bruised but _alive_ , and it feels like a piece of Ryan’s mind has fallen back into place. Like this makes sense, all of them, here and now. Together. 

“Gavin!” Michael cries, and runs to meet him. Ryan struggles to sit up, to focus. He sees their bodies collide, pull together, sway back and forth in a steady tidal rhythm. And then they’re staggering back towards him and collapsing to the ground and it’s _all_ of them, arms tangled around one another, limbs like jigsaw pieces slotting easily into place. He closes his eyes and it’s Michael’s blazing warmth and soft hair against him, and Gavin’s green eyes and lean angles, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like there’s something missing. 

They sit there for a moment, breathing raggedly. When they pull apart Michael looks between them and Ryan sees his face crumple a little.

“Jesus,” he says, “The two of you. Jesus, Jesus.”

He registers the blood covering Gavin’s face, the way he’s listing to one side, the pallor of his skin. But Gavin reaches out to him, then, and Ryan sees his own face reflected in the dark centres of the other man’s eyes. He looks like a corpse, skin white as death with sunken red eyes. 

“Ryan,” he whispers, “You’re okay.”

“He needs a medic,” Michael says grimly, “We need to get both of you to the hospital, stat.”

“Gavin, what happened?” Ryan murmurs - it’s still a confused jumble in his mind, and he doesn’t know if there’s still danger out there or if they’ve _won,_  and around them Geoff and Blaine and Lindsay and all the rest are milling, talking in low urgent tones, pointing to the police still arcing overhead. They need to get out of here, but someone else will deal with that. For now Ryan leans in and with the last of his strength, grasps Gavin’s face and pulls him close.

“I didn’t say it before.” It seems suddenly terribly important. “I was scared, but you’re okay, you’re alive, it’s not too late-” 

Gavin’s hand closes over his, pressing him close, his eyes slipping shut. His hand’s very warm against Ryan’s bloodless skin.

“No, Ryan, it’s not too late,” he whispers. “It’s just beginning.” 

Ryan manages a small smile. He pulls their foreheads, together, let his own eyes slip shut, and breathes against Gavin’s lips, “I love you too.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All major content warnings for the story are at the start of chapter one.

**xxxvii. homecoming**

Ryan wakes up slowly to find himself in a hospital bed. His head feels thick and woozy, but nothing really hurts too badly. He lifts his head a little, disoriented, and it takes a moment before he recognises the room as the medical centre of their base. He turns his head and smiles as he notices Michael and Gavin curled up together in one of the arm chairs next to the bed. Gavin's head is resting on Michael's shoulder, the two of them looking at something on an iPad together, murmuring softly.

"Hey," Ryan says, or tries to. Nothing but a faint rasp comes out, but it's enough. They look up and their eyes widen and they're springing up immediately, rushing to his bedside. Ryan tries to sit up a little more and grimaces; everything feels stiff and heavy.

"Hey, hey, don't push yourself," Michael chides. He reaches out and adjusts Ryan's pillows, helping him to sit up gently. Gavin brings a cup of water to his lips and he drinks gratefully. It washes out the chemical taste in his mouth and when he tries to speak again it's a little clearer.

"How long was I out for?"

"Two days," Michael says, and Ryan sees the look in his eyes - soft and relieved as he reaches out and touches Ryan's face, then leans in and rests their foreheads together for a moment before kissing his cheek. Ryan fumbles for his hand and squeezes it. Gavin's hovering nearby and when he turns to him, the other man reaches out shyly and takes Ryan's other hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss his scarred knuckles. His other wrist is bandaged and in a sling against his chest.

"You're both okay," Ryan says, and Michael scoffs.

"Us? You're the one who nearly bled out! There was shrapnel in your side that the doctors had to get out and you were unconscious for ages. They said you were stable, but still..."

He trails off and Ryan bites his lip. He doesn't want to think about how worried the two of them must have been. All he can feel is faintly grateful that Gavin was here, too - that Michael wasn't alone.

"I feel a lot better now," is all he can really say. "Really fucking hungry, but nothing hurts."

"Cause you're doped up on painkillers," Michael laughs, but something in his shoulders relaxes.

Ryan squeezes Gavin's hand.

"You look better than last time I saw you," he says then, and Gavin smiles, ducking his head.

"A few broken ribs. Nothing life threatening. Fucked up my wrist, but it'll heal. Also I have these giant scabs. I can't wait to pick them off later."

"You shouldn't," Ryan says, and Michael grins.

"He's gonna, and I've bagsed the one on the back of his arm."

"That's fucking disgusting," Ryan says, and Gavin waves his good hand indignantly.

"But Ryan, it's gonna be so _satisfying,_ Ryan."

"That's just fucking weird. Michael more than you, what the fuck you wanna pick someone _else's_ scab off for? You're both grotesque little creatures," he says, but there's a hysterical, relieved laugh bubbling up in his chest and soon they're all laughing, even if it makes Gavin wince until Michael drags a chair up for him to sit down in.

"So what happened while I was out?" Ryan asks. He's feeling more alert by the second, and twists his head to check the time. The clock by the side of the bed reads six p.m.

Michael sits on the bed next to him, and settles in.

"Gavin managed to take out the mobile operations centre's weapons systems. He led them towards the bridge where Burnie met them in the tank. He killed the Harts, then he destroyed the M.O.C. and some of the police choppers. The tank's gone into hiding now but everyone got out okay."

"There was a lot of damage to the city," Gavin adds, quietly, "So we've been lying low the last few days. Everyone's heard that Gemini was taken out, though, so I don't think anyone will be threatening the Fakes' position in the city any time soon. Right now all the others are just working on clean up."

"I'll have my work cut out for me once I get back out there," Michael says, and shrugs a bit. "But for now, everything's pretty under control. A few shops got damaged but they're people in our territory so Geoff's already settling things with the owners. It'll take a bit, but the city should get back to normal soon enough - just without Gemini breathing down our neck constantly."

It takes a moment for it all to sink in.

"So it's over," Ryan says, and Michael nods, his face splitting into a wide grin. 

"It's over," he says, and suddenly Ryan feels his eyes welling with tears. 

_You nearly lost them both. You nearly lost everything._ But somehow he isn't scared, because they're right here in front of him, they're all okay and they can take care of themselves and no one was too late. 

"Ryan," Gavin whispers, and shuffles closer to him. "It's all fine now."

"It's over," Ryan repeats, and looks over at Gavin. He's expecting more emotion from the other man, somehow - after all, he's the one who should feel free, who finally has nothing left to be scared of. "You're fine?"

Gavin nods, his lips twisting a little.

"Yeah," he says, "I had a few moments over the last few days where I couldn't quite believe it. That they're both dead now, that for once there's nothing to be scared of, no distant enemy lurking in the darkness waiting to come along and ruin everything. I'm glad I could help with this," he adds in a mumble, "For once it feels like I killed my demons instead of just outrunning them."

It's a strange way of putting it, but somehow it fits perfectly, and Ryan thinks of how Wendy walked away into the dawn - how for the first time it feels like she's not lurking around every corner. He touches the ring around his neck and realises he'd nearly forgotten it was there; often it's a heavy, constant presence.

He feels himself smile, and reaches up to wipe away the tears.

There's a gentle rap at the door and Michael twists to look.

"Come in," he calls out, "He's awake."

Geoff enters. He looks tired, unshaven, but grins when he sees Ryan sitting up and alert.

"Ryan," Geoff says, moving up to his side, "Good to see you up. We were worried for a bit back there. You lost a lot of blood."

"I'm feeling fine, now. I'll try get up in a minute," Ryan says - his head's cleared, and he's feeling strong enough to sit up to meet Geoff. Michael squeezes his hand before slipping away, murmuring about going to find him something to eat. Geoff shifts into the space where he was and leans in to hug Ryan gently. Ryan hugs him back.

The three of them were working on this alone for so long that in some ways it feels like this was their battle. But he realises now just how much this was Geoff's fight, too. How scary it must've been to have someone threaten his city, his crew, so directly - how relieved he must be now that it's all over.

"You and Michael are gonna need a long break after all this," Geoff murmurs, and Ryan laughs as they pull back. 

"Think you're gonna need his help cleaning this mess up. It's his job, after all."

"Yeah, well. You're certainly not going back in the field for a while," Geoff says. Ryan waggles his eyebrows at him and Geoff rolls his eyes and turns away.

"As for you," he says, addressing Gavin, "We got your account all set up. I've sent the payment for finding us the armoury and I'm about to give you another cut of the profits we got from taking Gemini's remaining territory."

Gavin nods, and Ryan's pleased that he doesn't seem startled the way he usually does the second someone offers him anything - like he's starting to get used to being treated fairly. Geoff crosses over to his side of the bed.

"You take a holiday too," he says. "You need it after everything. No need to get stuck into work right away and it's better not to pull any big jobs until our position in the city's settled down. But start thinking up some cool heist ideas for later."

"Got it," Gavin says, with a mock salute. Geoff grins fondly, and pats his shoulder.

"You're in one of the small rooms at the base, yeah? If you're gonna be staying there for a while we might as well move you into one of the bigger quarters, like the others have."

"Gav and I were discussing that while you were asleep earlier, Ryan," Michael cuts in. He's just re-entered the room, carrying a tray. Ryan's stomach growls noisily as soon as he smells the food and Michael laughs. "Once you're better the three of us might head back to my flat. It's the biggest."

"Michael says there's a vacancy in his building," Gavin adds, shyly, and Michael nods.

"Yeah, that asshole who used to practice the oboe at two in the morning's finally moved out. Might be an idea. It's not too expensive."

"Sounds like you have your own plans working out, then," Geoff says. "But you're still welcome to a bigger room at the base, Gav- most of the main members of the crew have one."

Gavin nods. He looks pleased, and Ryan's happy to see him fitting in so well. Geoff heads out with a promise to be back later with any news, and Ryan tucks in, the others settling on the bed around him again.

"It does feel weird for it to finally be over," Michael says abruptly after a moment. "So much has changed that it feels like it's been a lot longer than it actually has."

"I'm excited to see your flat, Michael," Gavin says softly. "And yours, Ryan, and for everything not to be so focused on work. I know it's hard for it not to be, in our job, but... it's nice. For there to be other stuff, too."

Michael's face softens into something so fond that Ryan pauses just to watch him as he reaches out and brushes some of Gavin's hair back away from his face, knuckles brushing tenderly down his cheek as he lets his hand fall.

"There'll be plenty of time for that now," he murmurs, and Gavin nods.

"Before," he admits, "Right after you rescued me, even when we first started all... all this. I couldn't really enjoy it. I kept worrying, kept thinking back to how broken I used to be, kept being scared it'll all get ripped away again just like all my other hopes. But they're dead - they're _all dead_ \- no more looking back. Just looking forward now. Looking _up_. We've won."

Ryan nods. And he knows there'll never be a day when he isn't scared at the thought of losing either of them, and he knows nothing will stop his nerves when they go on jobs. But it isn't constant, and he's not going to let it get in the way as they move this - what they have, the three of them - forward.

Michael's nodding too. Ryan knows that even after the Lost were finished, what'd happened with Dodger had hit him hard. But there's no trace of that in his face now, and Ryan smiles and lets any last fears that this is too good to be true, that it can't last, slip from his mind.

 

* * *

 

The evening passes in a daze. Ryan's well enough to get out of bed and walk around a bit, even if his side hurts when he moves too fast, and he's allowed to go back to his own quarters in the base. That's where they sleep - early, all still exhausted even though it's been a few days since the shit hit the fan.

Ryan lies in the middle of the bed, Michael huddled close to one side of him, Gavin curled up on the other. There's still a nervous newness to all of them being here, and it took a bit of experimenting before they managed to find a position where everyone had enough pillows and no one could steal the blankets. But they figured it out, and the other two are breathing peacefully now. It feels safe to be buried here deep in the earth, under the city, secure from any outside disturbance.

He's not in pain, but he isn't quite ready to sleep yet. After everything that's happened he's worried that he'll dream of fires and smoke, of the endless cold, of waiting for Gavin to walk down that road only for him to never come.

But as he clutches the ring around his neck and turns it over and over - nothing happens. He keeps expecting Wendy to materialise, a dark shadow in the mirror across the room, a whispered voice at the back of his head. But she doesn't. It's just the two of them by his side, and he reaches out and touches Michael's soft hair, trails a hand down the back of Gavin's neck. Gavin shifts and snuggles closer, burying his head in Ryan's shoulder. He's sleeping soundly for once,  not stirring, and with their even breaths surrounding him Ryan lets his own eyes slip shut. No nightmares here, not now.

-

-

-

**xxxviii. gold**

This is the future:

Ryan's house plants have all died, shrivelled up with no one home for a month to water them, and they spend a day figuring out which ones can be salvaged and which get thrown away. Gavin leaves for two hours and comes back with two large sacks full of new ones and won't say where he got them from.

"But how do you rob a plant store?" Michael keeps demanding, "I just don't see how no one could notice."

"You can lift anything if you put your mind to it," Gavin points out, "Besides, who ever said I _stole_ them?"

"It's not stealing if it's from nature," Ryan points out, and Gavin nods emphatically, and they spend the afternoon positioning them in new places around the house and giving them all names, Gavin's contributions ranging from things like 'Barnaby' to 'Gunkmingle Smegbert'. It's nice to have them both here in his apartment, to see Michael standing bathed in the golden evening light as he adjusts a plant on the windowsill and hear Gavin pottering about in his kitchen, opening and shutting the cupboards as he makes a pot of tea, to see the place transform in the span of a day from dead and dry to filled with lush new green life.

-

Clayton is taken from their base in a body bag. Ryan insists on overseeing the process, even if he wasn't too involved in things towards the end. He feels a detached sort of satisfaction, and hopes that whichever of Burnie's men killed him told him that he'd lost before the end. And he sure hopes they told him it was Gavin who finally took out the Harts.

Michael insists on coming with him as they take the body down to the docks to dispose of it. They're grim-faced and silent the entire time and Michael's the one to light the fire at the end. They watch him burn together, fingers brushing now and then, and Ryan can see exactly why Michael likes this. There's something cathartic in watching the flames consume everything, reduce it to nothing but dust. He feels like something in him is burning away with it, and when they walk away after he feels lighter somehow.

Gavin didn't come with them.

They'd told him where they were going and he thought about it a long time before deciding not to. Still - Ryan's eager to see him and when they meet him in the city later he's had a hair cut and dyed it blonder, is wearing a tight-fitting new shirt that accentuates the slender lines of his body. He looks put together in a way that he hasn't before. The last few weeks he's started wearing more colours, has slowly been putting on a healthier amount of weight, but - maybe it's just because of the fire, of what they just watched - this is the first time that it really feels like a new start.

"You look hot," Michael greets him, drawing him in by the waist and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Thanks," Gavin says softly. Then, a bit nervously, "How was it?"

"Clayton also looked hot when we set him on fucking fire," Michael says, and Gavin's laughter makes the lingering tension leave his shoulders. Michael wraps an arm around his waist and they head off down the street together, and the sunlight is warm on their skin, and Ryan can't take his eyes off how Gavin's hair glints brightly, like a star, like the glimmer of a coin at the bottom of a well, like something you could make a wish on.

-

They decorate Gavin's new apartment together. He's too sparing with his money and though the others can understand why, it's frustrating to see him insisting on sleeping on a mattress on the floor and refusing to spend on anything non-vital. All their gentle urging about how he isn't going to run out of money any time soon doesn't help, so eventually they start bringing furniture over from some of their safe houses so he at least has a few things.

"You could get a cat," Michael suggests - they're painting one of his walls sky blue and the manual work is oddly satisfying. "This apartment block lets you."

Gavin's eyes light up.

"Maybe," he says. "I don't know, once I've settled in more I'll think about it."

"Lindsay will be over every day if you get a cat," Ryan chuckles, and Gavin rolls his eyes.

"She's welcome any time," he says, "Lindsay's lovely."

"But I'm lovelier," Michael teases. He tries to touch Gavin's back and he squirms away, laughing.

"No, Michael, you've got paint-y hands." 

"You're gonna knock this over," Ryan says, swiftly moving the paint bucket out of the way as Michael proceeds to chase Gavin across the room, coming perilously close to getting paint on the other walls they're not intending on painting as he does so. 

Before long Gavin's got his own house plants, and a string on the wall where he hangs lots of little polaroid photos after Ryan buys him a camera, and a gaming setup that Jeremy helped him with, and his place is as cosy and familiar as the other two's apartments-

And Michael's the one, just as often as Gavin, to wander down the hall in the dead of night after a bad dream and knock on his door. That's assuming they're not sleeping over at each others' places anyway, which they do more often than not, and many late nights are spent curled up on the couch together, with mugs of hot milk, watching National Geographic until they slowly fall asleep.

-

They wake up sprawled in bed together, a tangle of limbs, someone inevitably having pulled all the sheets to their end in the middle of the night. Three is harder to navigate than two but they've made it work, and their bare skin looks beautiful in the morning light.

Gavin will trace the thick scar across Michael's stomach, press kisses to the starburst-gunshot wound on his thigh, the slash of a knife on his abdomen, his arm, his chest, long healed. Will trail his fingers over the myriad of marks that cover Ryan's own chest - always pausing to giggle over the skull-shaped chest hair, which somehow has never gotten old to him - treats the ring with a reverence even if it sometimes gets in the way a little.

The scars on his own back are bad, but with time and after seeing the others he doesn't seem too self-conscious about them. What means the most is the morning he and Ryan are kissing, lazily, his weight resting on the other man's chest while Michael sits beside him kissing the back of his shoulder gently, when he takes Ryan's hand and slowly lifts it, nestling it in his hair. Ryan pauses immediately, breaking away.

"Are you sure?" he breathes, and Gavin's eyes are wide, but he nods.

"I trust you," he says, thumb stroking over the back of Ryan's hand, "Just don't pull too hard."

Ryan nods, in awe of the trust being handed to him, and gently cards his fingers through the newly blond strands, presses them to Gavin's scalp in a faint massage. He doesn’t pull away, just relaxes into Ryan’s touch, and smiles when Michael leans in to kiss the top of his head.

-

"I want to show you something," Gavin will say one afternoon, and take Ryan on a drive to the outskirts of the city. He's been familiarising himself with different areas and now that he's free to go wherever he wants, do whatever he likes, he spends a lot of his spare time exploring.

The forest areas that fringe some of the parks in the city aren't really the FAHC's turf; there isn't much there for them and it's too easy to get lost besides. But Gavin leads Ryan along one of the hiking trails and then up a steep hill along a narrow winding path that's barely noticeable through the trees.

"Feels like you're taking me to the Pet Sematary," Ryan jokes, and Gavin's lips twitch, but his eyes are heavy.

"Not quite," he says, and leads him into a quiet glade. Ryan freezes, his eyes widening.

The trees overhead mean the light spills down into the clearing in a pattern of soft, dappled light. The ground is mossy and springy under their feet and the first thing he notices are the flowers. Pink and yellow honeysuckle cover the whole glade, surrounding a wooden cross in the middle. He inches closer. Time and the elements have worn the name off the white wood.

"I don't know whose grave it is," Gavin whispers, "But it's beautiful, don't you think?"

Ryan can only nod numbly. He reaches out and touches one of the flowers, gently.

"You know what this is?" he asks, and Gavin nods.

"Like your house growing up, yeah?"

Ryan nods. After a moment he sinks to his knees. Gavin sits next to him and wraps his arms around him. His chest feels tight, but it's not unpleasant. For a long, long time the fact that they hadn't found Wendy's body had consumed him. It felt like there still was no closure. No grave to visit, nowhere to pay his respects.

This isn't hers. He has no idea how long it’s been here, and whoever’s buried in this beautiful spot has clearly been long reclaimed by the earth. But it helps to pretend, to at least have one spot where he can allow himself to feel, to grieve, without worrying about the past leaking back in and contaminating the new life he's built in Achievement City. It feels different, here.

They sit for a long time. He breathes in the sweet, lingering smell of the flowers, and watches the spots of light shift across the ground. Dragonflies and colourful moths flutter around the grave. Eventually the heaviness in his chest eases and he feels more peaceful than anything else. He leans against Gavin's shoulder and lets himself dwell, for the first time, on the happy memories without letting the pain overtake him.

By the time he rises he feels emotionally wrung-out, but at the same time lighter. Like everything that was clogged up inside has started to seep out. Gavin stands with him and squeezes his hand.

"Thank you," Ryan whispers, and leans in to kiss him gently. "I'll definitely come back."

"I'm glad," Gavin says, and leads him back out to the trail, and by the time they're on the road again they're laughing and joking with each other and no darkness lingers.

-

Gavin talks to Dan more often now. Calls him at least once a week and texts him more than that. The first time the others meet him is when they come over to surprise Gavin in his flat with dinner and find him in the middle of a skype video call.

It's strange to finally put a face to the name. Gavin had no photos of him and his descriptions were so vague that it was hard to imagine. But the cheeky, boyish grin, the intense dark eyes, the way he immediately starts teasing Gavin and tries to tell them embarrassing stories, puts the two of them at ease right away. 

"Michael and Ryan want to come to visit," Gavin informs him, "We should plan a heist and all do it together."

"Steal the crown jewels," Dan proposes immediately, "Isn't that what you said you always wanted to do, B?"

"Even I'm not that ambitious," Gavin snorts. "Maybe you should come here instead."

"Thinking about it," Dan admits. Then, "So tell me more about the Fakes' heists, then. Anything big in the works?"

He's easy to get along with, and later, when the two of them have gone to set the table and Gavin's just saying goodbye, Michael catches him nodding in response to something Dan's said.

"Yeah, I am," he's saying, "Happier than I've ever been."

"Good," Dan replies, and Michael has to hide his own smile, pleased by the admission and the approval. 

-

When Ryan's wounds have healed to faint scars, and the bandages have come off Gavin's chest, and the weather's getting warmer until even the nights are just pleasantly cool, they'll set off after dinner for the beach and walk late into the night across the sand. Sometimes they bring drinks with them, and sit curled up on the sand watching the stars above them. It's not always alcohol, sometimes it's strong peppermint tea in a thermos, or hot chocolate bought from the little cafe that looks down over the water. 

The conversations they have on those nights feel a little strange, a little unreal. They talk about fate, about the afterlife and what might happen after they die, about existence and soul mates and human destiny. Things that used to feel too heavy but spill out easily now like they're not afraid of ghosts. The smell of the salt air and the _crash, crash_ of the waves feels like some sort of purification.

Ryan will speak about Wendy, things he hasn't told even Michael before, and Michael speaks of the Lost and a man named Kant and a brother he lost a long time ago, and Gavin whispers some of the things Clayton did to him, things he thinks will fester if he doesn't let them get out, and the wind and the water carry the words away, and when they rise at dawn they feel clean.

-

"We should be the ones buying you jewellery," Michael comments, when they walk into the base one day to find Gavin decked out with new gold bracelets and necklaces. "You steal all that?"

"No, Jeremy and Lindsay did!" Gavin replies, happily. He's got Jeremy's sunglasses shoved up in his blond hair. "They robbed a jewellery store for me because they remembered a way I'd told them I would do it, and there happened to be an event on so they tried it out."

"Sounds like you taught them well, then," Ryan says, reaching out and chucking him under the chin. "You're gonna get swooped by a fucking magpie."

Gavin laughs, gleefully.

"I like gold," he informs them. "I'm sick of wearing black all the time so if anything I'm happy to go with the exact opposite. Plus it matches my shoes!"

He waves his feet, decked out in obnoxiously gold sneakers, at them. Michael laughs fondly.

"Well they definitely can't call you the Shadow when you're wearing that. More like the sun."

"Solar boy," Ryan suggests.

"I prefer Golden Boy," Gavin says, and laughs, "But codenames are ridiculous, anyway."

"I think it suits you," Michael says, and pauses for a moment, lifting one of Gavin's hands and pressing a kiss to his palm, brushing over the gold rings on his fingers. 

-

They start planning heists together. It reminds Michael of some of the evenings back in the safe house when he and Gavin were tentatively getting to know each other, when they'd throw around ridiculous ideas and joke around and for the first time he saw the other man's shell start to crack.

Now it's even better because Gavin's happy all the time and Ryan's here too, and the three of them spend many late nights up in the boardroom poring over maps of the city, plotting increasingly ridiculous diagrams on the whiteboard, falling into fits of laughter every time another extravagant idea gets added.

Gavin looks good in his element, his voice more confident now, speaking almost too fast for them to keep up with, mind seeming to dart from one idea to another with blinding speed-

And Michael, leaning back in his seat idly flicking his lighter on and off, has a fierce determination in his eyes, a mischief in his grin that makes both the others remember just what parts of him they fell in love with-

And Ryan, who gets just as into the mad schemes, adds a theatric flare that delights Gavin and makes Michael shake his head in amusement-

They make a good team, and it's hard to imagine that Gavin was ever not a part of all this, and the world suddenly seems open to them, pearls and gold ripe for the picking, nothing standing in their way-

-

"Your face paint looks too angry," Gavin says one day, when he's sitting on the side of Ryan's bath tub watching him get ready for one of his first proper jobs since he healed up.

Ryan pauses, brush halfway to his face.

"It's meant to be intimidating," he says, but Gavin rises and reaches to take the brush from him.

"All that black and red," he replies quietly, "It's really _angry._ Can I...?"

Ryan nods, mutely, and Gavin takes out his own make up bag - they've started using paint often enough on jobs that he has his own by now - and reaches to wipe Ryan's face clean.

Ryan slips his eyes shut. He feels Gavin's gentle touch on his jaw, tilting his face this way and that to get him at the right angle, the brush moving in quick light strokes across his skin. Finally Gavin pulls back, the cold air of the bathroom rushing in where his warm body was.

"You can look now," he says, and Ryan opens his eyes slowly.

Gavin's kept the skull design. But his face is now painted completely white with the skull drawn over it in sparkling gold. No red, no black, not even any bluish-grey like he used to have. It looks more delicate, a mask that's worth something. He turns his head this way and that and watches it glimmer.

"Definitely not as angry," he says, but there's something else in it - something cold and haughty and just as dangerous. And it's so very _Gavin_ that after a moment he can't help but grin. The skull's lips stretch with his and Gavin smiles and leans in, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck that makes Ryan shiver.

“I like it more,” he says softly, and Ryan thinks of how he’ll look standing between Gavin with his gold sunglasses and hair like a candle flame, and fierce Mogar with his bared teeth and a wolf on his back.

“I like it too,” he whispers, and Gavin’s smile widens, and he giggles and squirms away when Ryan takes the paint brush and wipes a smear of gold paint across his cheek, too.

-

It’s not just that. It’s not just Mogar and the Vagabond and the Golden Boy, although even those have something less broken to them too. It’s not just the late nights spent up heist planning or trawling the city or breaking into warehouses and banks. It’s the three of them driving back to the base afterwards, Gavin and Michael asleep leaning on each other in the back seat and Ryan glancing at them fondly in the rear view mirror. It’s when the paint and make up come off and they curl up on the couch with cups of tea and Michael massages Ryan’s shoulders and Gavin falls asleep with his head in Ryan’s lap. It’s waking up in the morning and looking to either side of the bed and knowing that another night’s passed, and everyone is safe and well, and planning weekend trips or evenings out that have nothing to do with their reputations in the city.

Those are the good moments.

There will be bad moments, and dark moments too, but they will pass. It’s the coming home, the moonlight through the window, the belief that no matter what happens this will somehow work out. Something that feels a bit like magic, a place where they’re _found_.

**\- the end -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [playlist for the end of the story, and the hopeful future](https://8tracks.com/8ofhearts/let-s-be-brave).
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, kudos or sent me messages on tumblr. This fic has been a really interesting one to write, oddly personal at some points and in many ways very challenging, but everyone has been lovely and I'm so grateful for all your support and feedback :')
> 
> Next up is a two-chapter Sky Factory AU freewood fic, a bunch of various oneshots, a short mavin GTA fic, and then my next big multichapter will probably be a mavinseg fantasy AU :')
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/) for prompt fills that I don't always post to AO3.
> 
> I've also got a [twitter](https://twitter.com/joswhale) now where I post about the different projects I'm working on!
> 
> See you in the next one <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [how do i live with your ghost?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571390) by [cooliohoolio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooliohoolio/pseuds/cooliohoolio)




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